


"… To Dream".

by wily_one24



Series: Sleep, perchance to dream. [2]
Category: Veronica Mars - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-12-28
Updated: 2008-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 53,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wily_one24/pseuds/wily_one24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn’t know how to tell him no, how to explain exactly how much this is a bad idea</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Rating:** pg-13.  
>  **Summary:** She doesn’t know how to tell him no, how to explain exactly how much this is a bad idea  
>  **Spoilers:** Pre-series, but some season one stuff.  
>  **Warnings:** None, not really.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Oh, they’re not mine. I just take them out of their boxes, play with them, muss there hair a bit, and put ‘em back when I’m done.

*~*~*~*  
 **…TO DREAM** , part one.  
*~*~*~*

The leather sticks to the backs of her thighs as she stares out the window, toes curling inside her shoes, right foot, then left. Her mouth feels sticky and she wants to stop for water, but she’s not going to be the first one to speak, to break the deafening, heavy silence.

So the car drives on.

Outside, the streets and houses have fallen away to reveal never-ending highways and trees. Inside the car, Veronica thinks it would be easier to throw open the door at full speed, tuck her knees up and just dive out, hitting the road at a roll and hoping for minimal injuries along the way.

“I know where we can go!”

She jumps at his voice, if not the intention.

It sounds too loud and too sudden inside their close, self imposed suffocating quarters, even if she’s been expecting him to say something for the last thirty minutes. Even if she’s known exactly where he’s been headed since he first turned onto the highway.

The Xterra pulls onto the exit ramp and Veronica grips the edges of her seat even tighter, wishing she’d had the good sense to push him out of her apartment earlier and just go to school anyway.

Not that she wants to be there, either. The very thought of walking into the school and looking at the same multitude of faces who either taunt her or ignore the taunting is just wearying in ways that leave her listless and unable to move.

Unable to walk away from the one person who has bothered to look twice at her in the last few months.

“Okay.” It blurts out of her lips like an accident, like she should be following it with ‘excuse me’ in polite company. “Sure.”

She doesn’t know how to tell him no, how to explain exactly how much this is a bad idea. Especially when he’s spent the entire morning with his face pinched up into a worried expression that makes it look like he’s going to crack into a million fragile pieces if she even frowns too much.

Her eyes stay resolutely on the edge of the dashboard, not looking up, not searching the landscape for the telltale bumps and whorls and multicolored signs that indicate their destination. A place she hasn’t been in eight months.

Two months before all their lives went to hell.

She knows what he’s trying to do. He’s made it the day’s mission to Make Veronica Happy At All Costs and he’s playing the part to perfection, all excitement and enthusiasm. He’s working so hard at it, that she’s willing to settle for Letting Herself Forget For Just A Day.

Perhaps she should get used to the taste of bile if she can’t tell him to turn the car around any second now.

“Is it even open today?” His face falls so far at her words that she has no choice but to immediately backtrack. “I mean, why wouldn’t they be? It’s close enough to Spring Break, right?”

The sun is beating down hard through the windows and the skin of her knees is turning pink. They’re nowhere near summer just yet, but it’s already hot enough to notice.

There’s sweat trickling on the inside of her elbows.

“I just saw one move!” His cry is loud and sudden and triumphant, bursting with so much excitement and expectation that he sounds about ten years old. “It’s open!”

She angles forward toward the windscreen, stretching her eyes up and finally looking at the monstrosity that is far too close now to turn back from. Sure enough, as she’s looking high into the sky, one of the roller coaster cars rockets by.

They’re close enough to hear the sound of it rumbling, as if the very air around them is rocked.

Veronica doesn’t trust Logan Echolls enough to leave him alone with a caged rat and yet she’s there with him now, about to let him drag her into Magic Mountain and onto rides specifically designed to excite her terror-death responses as they pass places that are still tainted by memories of Lilly and forms of themselves that they’ll never be again.

And she doesn’t know how to look into his eyes and tell him that scares her beyond anything.

So she plasters on a smile she hopes is mildly believable and turns to him.

“Yay?"

***

It’s not like she’s a stranger to this.

Her dad does it, not always to this magnitude, but she knows the routine.

After the weeks following Lilly’s funeral, those weeks Veronica can barely remember in any true detail beyond the blur of existing, the sluggish way of moving that wasn’t really moving as hands pushed and pulled her where they wanted her to go, the numbness that had couched her, her father had taken her to the San Diego Zoo.

Since then, with every subsequent set back, her dad’s removal from office, her mom leaving, leaving their house for a smaller apartment, ostracism, the father-daughter activities have gotten a little less showy and lot more heartfelt.

They’ve got a definite schedule down now, set movies on DVD, standard orders at the local Italian take out, everything down to the timing of who does what and how and when. It’s comfortable, the two of them, together in ways that they’ve never been before.

She’s learned a lot about her father now that he’s at home more, now that they’ve both lost so much. They share loneliness, a love of fine foods, the care of Backup, a guilty indulgence in goofy movies and the occasional wistful glance at her mother’s photo sitting in a frame on the shelf.

This sudden enforced camaraderie, though cherished by them both, came at a high price. Too high, she thinks sometimes.

And not just her father, either. It comes in many forms, such as jokes shared with her father’s lawyer. Cliff helped Keith set up the business and from the very start laughed with and at her, jovial in ways that made her breathe easier, even if she could see past the light humor into the pity behind his eyes.

It’s a survival technique, one they’d all had to learn quickly, a legacy of being friends with Lilly Kane: how to ignore pity. She thinks even Logan has that one down. She also thinks they’re both reaching the end of their tether on it.

Which is why her fingers itch and curl as she watches him step up to the front gate.

She’s familiar with the sentiment, this desperate attempt to bring her up and out of herself, her bedroom is full of stuffed toys and her belly full of bags of sweet pastries and Italian cuisine bought in guilt, but it is still Logan Echolls.

And Logan Echolls is _not_ the adorably mischievous boy who once held her down so Lilly could tickle her until she choked on her own laughter, coming up purple faced and breathless as they suddenly let go and backed away, splitting up and running in opposite directions so she couldn’t follow them both.

All she really needs to do is grit her teeth and remember the ugly words in his mouth, the brutal ways in which he’s tried to tear her down and it becomes easy.

He flinches when her hand slams down in front of him, slapping the fifty clearly on the counter.

“Veronica…”

But she glares and it’s painful. It’s hard won money she can barely afford to be pissing off on spur of the moment days when she should be at school. It’s pride she knows he can barely swallow, but really has no right not to.

“Fine.” He curls the note into the palm of his hand and continues pressing the credit card forward. “Two, please.”

She knows he’s going to slide that note back to her sometime during the day, but that’s hardly the point of the exercise.

***

She honestly wouldn’t be surprised to see a large ball of thistle tumble down the path ahead of them. It’s not just the heat, even if it’s really too early in the year for the air to be the kind of thick, arid vacuum that sucks all the color and energy out of everything, it’s that there’s so few people around.

They live in California and there’s mostly perfect weather all year round and somewhere in the world it has to be a holiday, so there’s always bundles of tourists and enough random stragglers dotting the park to make their presence un-noteworthy to everyone else, but the absence of eighteen hour long ride lines and shoulder to shoulder jostling just highlights their awkwardness.

Logan talks big, he always has, and she remembers finding it exhausting when she was just an observer, quietly clutching Duncan’s hand as they smiled at him trying to wheedle Lilly into whatever next big adventure he’d had planned.

But now it’s just her and Logan, with no buffers in between, and it’s mentally taxing to force her arm to stay limp and pliant when he grabs her wrist and pulls her off towards whatever tangent catches his eye.

It’s hard not to dig her heels in and fight him at every step.

The platform they’re standing on rumbles under their toes as the coaster screeches to a halt just feet away, the seated people red faced and incomprehensible as they jabber with excited glee. They’re first in line and he reaches out for her hand, trying to pull her to the very first car.

She flinches before she can stop herself and his face falls, eyes narrowing slightly as he folds his arm up to his chest like a bird protecting a wing.

“I’m trying, Veronica.”

The way he says it, it sounds more like an accusation than an admission as the man pulls the heavy bars down across their chests.

Only when the wind is forcing their heads back onto the little pad that cushions them and their shoulders are slammed against the backs of the chairs, hard bars clamping them down into their seats as the ground rushes up to meet them at inhumane speeds, does she open her mouth to answer.

“I’m scared!”

He doesn’t answer amid the screams of everyone else, but his hand inches over and his fingers mingle with hers when the cars lurch, their stomachs are left somewhere on the ground as they rocket back towards the sky.

***

They eat lunch sitting at a wooden bench, elbows tucked in politely, eyes down at the fries and his hotdog, knees held very carefully to avoid touching.

It’s not like she doesn’t remember the night before, because she does. She spent a good deal of the rest of the night and the morning trying to get it out of her head. His drunken voice slurring about how he thought she was pretty, of all things, and now he was trying to play the friend card and she was supposed to pretend it had never happened.

And all between moments of being hyper aware enough of her actions not to give him any ammunition in case he really was just playing a game that he’d tire of after a week or even less.

Her stomach grumbles against the flood of incoming soda as she sips at the straw and what she really wants is something solid and real, what she wants is a hotdog slathered with ketchup, just like the one Logan has, but she’s perfectly fine with her serving of fries, small, delicate food that can be eaten nicely, without a hint of innuendo or suggestion or crudity. Because she’s sitting with Logan and that’s _habit_ borne of self-preservation.

What she really wants is to trust him.

“You gonna eat those?”

Veronica narrows her eyes.

“Touch my fries and die, Echolls.”

He laughs and it’s almost comfortable between them.

***

And maybe Logan knows more about what he’s doing, what they’re both doing, than she was willing to give him credit for.

It’s hard to keep up distance between two people when they’re rocketed back and forth at break neck speeds, screaming at the top of their lungs. It’s hard not to let some of the walls crumble as she gasps for breath, stumbling as her legs try to adjust back to solid ground, laughing, buzzing on the adrenaline high.

There’s something altogether freeing about giving up control of everything to an absurdly rickety cart and hurtling towards almost certain destruction as she opens her lungs and _screams_. And they both scream. It’s not because they’re scared and they both know it.

Veronica hasn’t gotten angry, really angry, for six months. She’s been resolute and strong, unwavering enough to convince everyone around her, but she hasn’t allowed herself to look deep enough to find any anger beneath the resentment and fear and grief.

She’s almost surprised to find it there.

Nobody even blinks at a couple of teenagers on a roller coaster if they shout out long, incomprehensible words against the loud thundering of the wheels and carts and hoists. And when some teen in front of them screams out a joyful ‘woo!’ on the way down, Veronica screams out a large ‘fuck you!’ to everyone and everything.

And Logan grins at her as he lifts the bars off his chest at the end of the ride.

The words spill out, rushed and heated, and they talk of nothing. Things that don’t matter, that can never matter, about the shape of a bush, about the suspicious color of an icecream cone held by a random passing stranger, about the height of one of the rides.

Things they don’t talk about include: his family; her family; school; the friends he has and she doesn’t but once did at school; Lilly; Duncan; the times when they were LillyandLogan and DuncanandVeronica; sex; law enforcement; crime solving; flat tires; vandalism; even the times before there were LillyandLogan and DuncanandVeronica, when they were just four kids being kids. It burns holes in the tips of their tongues, because these people and these words and these histories rule their lives.

She knows the instances that he feels it, even when he doesn’t say anything, it’s a gasp of breath, a sudden inhalation like he’s trying to pull the moment back into his mouth once he’s opened it.

Eventually one of them has to break and it ends up being her.

“Oh my god.” It’s a laugh, bubbling out of her chest before she knows it’s there as she grabs his arm and lets go in an instant, gesturing towards a shop front. “That’s the shop Lilly thought she saw Colin Farrell in that time!”

He blinks, stunned for a second, and she watches him shake his head free of it.

“No.” But it’s not a denial, just a moment of gathering thoughts, before a grin blooms all over his face. “I can’t believe she made us stalk that man for twenty minutes.”

The laughter is short lived and she breathes deeply, as if she can absorb all the happy molecules still floating about in the air, haphazardly wafting around her face. Most likely, she’s taking in someone else’s exhaled misery.

“She’s everywhere, here, isn’t she?”

Her question officially sets the mood and he stops smiling.

“Yeah.”

Suddenly the thrill of coasters and rides and _defying everyone_ seems hollow and base and they’re just two people standing in the middle of a path that leads nowhere between islands of overly green fake grass and too cheery signs.

“I miss her.” She whispers. “Sometimes I forget she’s gone and then I remember.”

He’s not looking at her and it’s the first time all day she doesn’t feel like his own little mission, something he’s adopted for the sake of responsibility. It’s something she’s been waiting for, a small taste of freedom from the crushing weight of being someone else’s pity party, but somehow it just feels worse, feels a little empty.

“Her number’s still programmed into my phone, you know?” His throat trembles when he speaks and she pretends not to notice. “It’s stupid, but I can’t take it out. I know I should, but I just can’t… It’s just a fucking number, right?”

And this isn’t what she wanted, not at all, because all he’s doing now is blurring the line even further. That clearly defined line of Logan-That-Was-Her-Friend and Logan-Who-Now-Isn’t, the strict uncrossable line of friend and foe.

“Logan…”

He sighs.

“Sometimes I wake up with my phone in my hand and I’ve already called her.” He gulps, deep and oxygen starved. “And I get that fucking voice announcing the number isn’t connected anymore… and I hate it, that stupid anonymous voice… I want to hurt it. And it’s just a voice!”

“Logan, c’mon.” Her fingers curl around his arm as she keeps her voice low and steady, trying to pull him away, out of the middle of the road, out of the view of people who are beginning to stop and turn and look. “Let’s sit down somewhere.”

Her fingers slide on his skin when he jerks out of her touch.

“I’m fine.” It’s hissed and low and slaps her across the face like a physical entity. “Jesus, Veronica, I’m not about to break down.”

A lot of things have changed in six months, the length of her hair, the brittleness of her skin, where she sits at lunch and who with, but one thing remains the same from the week after Lilly’s death, the way Logan’s whole body seems to shake without moving an inch. She knows that this, combined with his words, is code for ‘I’m about to break down pretty damn soon’.

That was back when he could list her top ten favorite songs and name the color dotting her fingernails without even looking, back when he’d spent time with her after Lilly’s death, back before she became his own personal antichrist and the recipient of his venom.

Five months, three weeks and four days ago, she would have wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in for a hug, she would have let him cry on her shoulder and later pretend it had been him comforting her. They’d done that, she still remembers it, she still feels it.

Her fingers itch in mid air, as if trying to reach him of their own accord.

But it isn’t the week after Lilly’s death and her father did accuse Jake Kane and Logan turned around and cut her off at the ankles for it.

“I haven’t been back, you know.” She doesn’t say where and the words are her own physical barrier, pushing him away and maybe, just slightly, maybe even trying to push him over the edge. “I can’t look at it again.”

A child, maybe six or seven, runs past them with an oversized toy hanging from her arms and bouncing high against her hip. Her voice is high and squeaky and worn out with too much fun as she calls for her mother with an accent Veronica can’t identify.

Neither of them blinks.

“I’ve been back.” Logan says it bitterly. “Trust me, she’s not there.”

Veronica thinks about cold grey marble etched with the name of her best friend, the base of it nestled neatly into grass too neat and too perfect to be anything but cultivated in a greenhouse and sculpted by underpaid hands before the funeral.

No mess and not a grain of misplaced earth on Lillian Kane’s grave.

God forbid.

“She never was.”

She wonders if he’s thinking about three people sitting in an otherwise empty room drinking stolen vodka and making each other laugh with stupid tales about Lilly while all the adults cried in another room.

And maybe this is like that, maybe walking around this park and remembering Lilly as she trailed after some random stranger, making them all hilariously obvious as they hid behind lamp posts and looked at blank walls as if they were shop fronts whenever he turned around, all four of them bursting into giggles that made their stomachs hurt, maybe that was better than visiting a grave that didn’t even have the right name.

Because the first thing Lilly would have done would be to attack Lillian’s grave with a chisel and correct that mistake.

“Yeah.” Logan nods resolutely. “Let’s just go, okay? Day’s done.”

Veronica looks around at the park that now seems offensively bright and cheerful and sighs.

“Sure.”

***

The drive home is as silent and awkward as the drive there.

Veronica slips Logan’s phone out of the console between them and erases Lilly’s number when he’s not looking.

She finds the fifty in her locker the next day at school.

***  
***

Logan doesn’t know how she does it.

He’s known now for little over two days and he’s already broken the third knuckle of his right hand over Sean’s face. The flesh bright red and swollen to bursting, tender with each and every flex, the times he forgets and moves his hand without thinking first.

“So, what’re we doing this weekend?”

Dick seems oblivious to the awkwardness he’s just created at the table. They sit grouped, huddled into the Chinese cartons, hunkered down like football players. Duncan glowers, pouting down to his chopsticks.

This would be the time someone usually perks up with some inane idea about TJ or a party or even something stupid like hanging out at someone’s house with purloined beer and the playstation. Pizza is usually never far from their plans, whichever way it turns out.

But there’s a silence, a gap, where the suggestion should be.

They’re waiting for Duncan to make the move. They’re like pack animals, hovering, scratching at the earth, waiting for some sign, some indication what the plan of attack should be. If Duncan plans to open the Kane house, then Logan is back in the group, if he doesn’t then nobody, not even the Casablancas will extend that invite.

Across the courtyard, not that he’s been looking or, more precisely, not that he’s let anyone see him look, Veronica sits by herself, hunched over her text books, ignoring people who pass by and the world in general.

She’s sharp, much sharper now in ways she never was before, and Logan wants to scream with it. Her hair slashed off and all her soft, vulnerable sides sharpened and defensive. How had none of them noticed? It makes his skin itch, makes him wonder.

He looks at Duncan, the way he sulks into his lunch and hasn’t been able to look Logan in the eye all week. This is a boy that used to know her, used to follow Veronica around like a love sick puppy, used to lap up after her and hold her in his arms and whisper private jokes into the shell of her ear.

It’s impossible, absolutely incomprehensible to Logan, that Duncan hasn’t put two and two together, hasn’t seen the sudden change in her and known that something is wrong. If it were anyone else, Logan would just assume it was because he’d dumped the girl beforehand and had moved on enough not to care. But this is Duncan and Veronica, and Logan’s felt the bruises all over his cheek that tell him Duncan still feels for her. Maybe Duncan doesn’t want to see, just like Logan for too long, maybe Duncan’s just too busy pretending all’s fine and dandy in the world.

And maybe, it’s a slight maybe that chills Logan to the bone, maybe Duncan does know and that’s what all this is about.

Logan forces himself to swallow that thought with the bile in his throat.

Not Duncan, he wouldn’t do that. Logan doesn’t know why he dumped Veronica so hastily, so cruelly, but he knows that the boy would never do something that unforgivable. It was somebody, though, somebody who was there that night.

Which leaves the list of suspects as long as the school roster. There are five guys sitting at his table right now that could fit that bill. Casey, John, Cole, Dick or Beaver were all there. Logan knows this all too well, he handed the GHB around himself.

“Hey man.” Dick breaks him out of his reverie with a slap to the shoulder, a hand that might have held her down. “You awake or what?”

Logan jerks away as if he’s been burned, he can’t help it.

“Don’t touch me!”

It’s almost a scream, certainly too loud in the small courtyard. Everyone turns to watch, heads pop up from distant tables like meerkats at the first hint of food. Logan scrambles back, back and up, his knees shaking as he stands. He can’t stay here, not like this, not with them.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees it, Duncan’s soft face and knowing expression, the way he gently reins everyone else in. That’s his friend, his best friend, has been for years, and if there’s anything Duncan knows how to do, it’s cleaning after the messes of Logan Echolls in a downward spiral, recognizing the signs of one too many harsh words with his father. Not even a fight of this magnitude will get in the way of protecting Logan’s secret.

He thinks he hates Duncan just for that brief second.

As he walks past, Veronica gives him a brief, understanding smile. Too small for anyone else to see, but he does, catches it with an inhalation. It cuts him right down deep, because her face is slightly confused, mildly worried for him, and she doesn’t seem at all perturbed by the fact that she’s a sitting duck in a yard full of men who could have raped her.

Logan doesn’t know how she does it.

***

He shouldn’t be surprised to see her standing in his side driveway when he pulls up, hip leaning against the sleek black lines of her LeBaron and arms crossed in front of her torso, but Logan can’t help the raise of his eyebrows as the gravel crunches under his tires.

_The agency making deliveries now?_

_Funny, I didn’t order a whore…_

The lines spring to his head as easy as breathing and he bites his tongue. Hard. Even if he says it in jest, it’s much too early, much too cutting and close to the last six months he’s just vowed to make up for. So he swallows them back up and smiles, trying not to appear too much like he’s eyeing her legs as her right foot crosses over her left ankle and her calves pouch out against each other.

Not at all, not him.

“It gets easier, you know.” He almost chokes when she speaks, launching herself off the bonnet with a bounce of her hip, and she laughs at his confusion. “Being around them.”

His feet hit solid ground as he jumps down from the driver’s seat. There’s maybe two feet between their cars and even less between them.

“I wasn’t…” And he’s suddenly tongue tied, flustered. It’s not a good feeling, nor a familiar one. He needs to say something just to say it, to get it out there and brush past the elephant standing between them. “So, what brings you here?”

Smooth.

Veronica gives him a look he instantly recognizes. It’s the same expression she’d sent to Lilly constantly, just the memory flashes through Logan like a sizzle, and he’d seen it often enough. The roll of her eyes and set of her mouth clearly say ‘cut the bullshit’.

There’s only one thing to do and he breathes in.

“How do you do it?”

He doesn’t think about how easily she falls into step beside him, their feet finding a pattern without thinking that the rest of them can’t seem to grasp even with the Herculean efforts they’ve been putting in. Their hands don’t touch, though he sees his left hand dangling suspiciously close to her right one and wishes he had the nerve to close that distance.

She shrugs.

“I don’t have a choice.” She lifts her chin up, turning her face to the sky as she breathes in. “But it gets easier.”

Not for the first time, his brain throws out images of what it must have been like for the last six months of her life. Putting up with all the crap they’ve put her through, putting up with everyone who may or may not have done that to her.

He doesn’t think it’s going to get easier at all.

“So?” His keys twirl around his forefinger, little metal distractions as he tries to lighten the mood. “You had to come all the way to my house for that? You couldn’t tell me, oh I don’t know, at school?”

She stops suddenly, turning to him with an open mouth.

“I… I thought you were doing the ignoring me bit.” It’s a blush that rises all the way up from her neck. “I mean, you were buddying up to Dick and those guys. Don’t you wanna be in the ‘in’ crowd again? Talking to me kinda negates all that effort.”

He chuckles, giving a quick glance to the house.

It’s barely a second, certainly nothing for her to notice, but it’s enough for him to see that there’s nobody else home, the drive an empty expanse of gravel. That’s a good thing. Unlike most people, his house is the most welcoming when it’s empty.

“Veronica, I am the in crowd.” He hopes he sounds more confident than he feels. “Didn’t you know?”

She laughs.

“God, Logan, you’re so full of it.”

He thinks it’s the nicest thing she’s said to him in months.

***

The air changes as soon as they step inside the door, his fingers finding the alarm pad easily and habitually, and his skin prickles at the sudden feel of recycled air. Logan feels lost inside his own house, it’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but he hates the great expanse of emptiness at his back, the never-ending chasm of space that threatens to swallow him whole.

Veronica steps inside the door slowly and timidly; waiting to the side, and her stiltedness just highlights the awkwardness between them.

“So.” He shrugs. “You want something to drink? Eat?”

If she were any other girl, Logan would know what to do. It starts, usually, with the grand tour, the one that gets them all fluttery with appreciation, because they don’t bother to hear or understand the bitter irony of his words. _This is Aaron’s kitchen… this is where Aaron reads his mail… this is where Aaron holds business meetings… these are Aaron’s Oscars…_ , but Veronica doesn’t fit into this category at all.

There are two problems there. First, she’s been to his house before and he’s going to feel more than silly giving her the grand tour. _Yeah, so, this is the kitchen where we all stood around and mushed oreos into icecream… and this is the lamp we had to buy after Duncan didn’t catch the football in that impromptu game we played… and this is the new rug…_. Secondly, she’s never been one to be impressed by either his father’s name or his father’s money.

It’s one of the things he remembers loving about her and that realization hits him hard, makes him both dizzy and ashamed. For all that he’d insisted to Duncan how much they’d once been friends, he hadn’t thought about it, really thought about the little waif like girl he used to giggle with as they waited in the Kane siblings shadows.

Even Lilly, for all her grandstanding, got girly and red faced, giggling breathlessly while telling him that _oh my god, Logan, your dad’s totally fuckable_ with enough truth in her voice to put him into therapy. Veronica, on the other hand, had never gotten starry eyed and he doesn’t remember ever telling her, but he used to relish the way she’d just brush through whatever necessary greetings _Um, hi, Mr. Echolls…_ until she could escape into the background.

“Sure.” She gives a little smile mixed with a grimace. “I guess.”

He steeples his fingers and gestures towards the kitchen and she nods resolutely as she begins the solemn march as if he’s just pointed her towards a gas chamber. As they walk, he watches her eyes flicker back and forth, quick and sure, cataloguing everything, cross referencing it with her memory.

“I don’t…” His throat goes dry with the sudden realization. “I don’t know if we have anything.”

Honestly, he spends the least amount of time possible being seen anywhere in this house and that includes nosing about the kitchen for food.

“Mrs. Navarro still work for you?”

Logan blinks at the casual question. He shouldn’t be surprised that she remembers, it’s the sort of thing she does, but it still takes him unawares and he nods. She gives him a roll of her eyes as an answer and it strikes him how comfortable that gesture is. How easy and unwarranted directed at him from her.

“Then there’s something, c’mon.”

It aches, just a little, when she smiles.

***

Logan sits on the floor with his back up against the foot of the bed, his right knee brought up and his left leg sprawled out in front of him, hands working the controller faster and harder than he’ll ever admit to anyone. There is no way he’s going to lose.

Of course, there’s no way he’s going to win if he keeps fumbling every time the little snake of wires leading up past his shoulder onto the bed behind him keeps jerking.

His neck burns with the imagined feel of her breathing.

“Man, you are really crap at this game, aren’t you?”

Veronica laughs somewhere behind him and he refuses to turn his head to look. She’s sprawled over the top, belly pressed into the mattress, and if he catches sight of her legs bent up with her ankles dangling somewhere above her ass again then there’s no way he’s going to be able to get that image out of his head.

“You wanted to play it, not me.”

There’s something seriously wrong with him, with the both of them, really. They’re sitting in his pool house using the controllers of the playstation to decimate little computer animated versions of themselves on screen and, somehow, they’re finding it all too easy. It’s still better than the polite awkwardness they were looping in until they’d picked something vaguely detached and impersonal to do. At least, it was supposed to be impersonal.

She whoops in celebration when she rips his head completely off for the fourth time.

“You really are out for blood, aren’t you?” He closes his eyes and leans his head back. “Were you always this vicious? What the hell happened to you?”

Movement behind him stops, the air suddenly turning electrified, and his eyes flick back open. He stares at the ceiling as the game beeps to death in front of him, he can just see the blades of the fan turning around and around above him.

The second controller hits the mattress with a small thump.

“Jesus, Veronica, I didn’t…”

He can hear her; he doesn’t need to turn around. She scrambles up, all limbs and rustling whispers and sharply inhaled breaths and he counts to ten before he does turn, shifting up onto his knees and looking her in the face.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” She’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, her arms pulled in close and her face pale. “You didn’t do anything.”

 _Yes, I did_.

He doesn’t know what it is about her, what makes him want to lay it all down and open for her to see, to just tell her everything. He wants to own up to sitting idly with the boys and trying to think up the lewdest, crudest things to say about her. That time he took out the half page photoshopped spread of her in a low-key girly mag and then taped copies of it all over school.

The bandage is gone from her wrist, but the skin on his back itches and he has the strangest urge to tell her of the price he paid for that, that he made himself pay for her. He wonders what she’d do, what she’d say, and that very line of thinking has him compulsively sucking all the moisture from his teeth.

“For everything.” He says instead, simply, to cover all bases, because anything else is too much and not enough. “Just… for everything.”

She shakes her head and her face is smooth and almost amused, if it wasn’t for the slightly desperate pleading in the back of her eyes, he’d be fooled.

“Don’t, Logan, just don’t. Not today.” Her voice cracks slightly on the last word and her eyes shift away from his to stare out the glass doors towards his pool. “Don’t.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He’s all but doubled over the edge of the mattress, leaning forward to get closer to her and she’s inching back. “Please?”

It’s a slow roll of her neck until she’s facing him again and he feels himself shrink under the shrewd gaze, the way her mouth pinches in and her forehead burrows in thought. She’s really studying him, looking for something in his face and he has no clue what it is.

“You really think you can make that up?”

His mouth is already open before his brain catches up and he snaps it shut. There’s no really safe way to answer that. Saying yes makes it look like he’s belittling all the things she’s been through, that he thinks a few half hearted fist fights in the hall is worth the way she cried as she told him. Saying no will be admitting defeat before he even begins.

“I can try.”

She mulls it over, her eyes flicking back and forth over his face, left to right and right to left.

“Will you…?”

Her bottom lip curls in underneath her teeth and she hesitates, leaving him on edge, leaving him breathless. He watches in confusion as she slowly pushes her hand out towards him. It’s like she’s made a decision and he should know what it is.

All he can think, as he looks at the newly healed wrist floating in the air between them, is about his carelessness, the way he hurt her.

His confusion must show in his face.

“Take it.” She goads, jiggling the hand in front of his face. “You do know how to hold someone’s hand, don’t you?”

He’d laugh if his confusion didn’t just quadruple and he can feel his own forehead wrinkling up as he slides his hand into hers, fingers sliding over her palm and into the grooves of the bones inside. Her face is blank as she stares at them and he desperately wants to know the reason for such a strange request.

Her fingers twitch inside his.

Then she smiles, soft and shy.

“Thank you.”

“But why?” He doesn’t let go as he pushes his feet against the floor and launches himself up onto the bed to sit opposite her, both of them face to face Indian style. “What’s so special about this?”

The smile curves around her lips, pushing the edges of them up, hesitating there for a second before dropping back to a blankly interested gaze as she turns their joined hands over, eyes moving swiftly over the knobbed structure.

“You wouldn’t understand.” It’s a sigh, sad and distracted. “But I missed this.”

“This?” He frowns as he looks down, too. “We used to hold hands a lot? Because I don’t remem…”

She jiggles his hand to get his attention.

“Touch.” It’s a whispered explanation and when he looks back up, her eyes are watching him intently and he’s stunned by the vulnerability she’s actually showing him. “Nobody touches me anymore.”

His thumb slides gently over hers and he’s choked by a thousand different memories.

All the countless moments he hadn’t realized he’d taken note of: all the stray, absent caresses that Duncan used to give her, the way she used to quiver into them, like a contented cat snuggling closer. All the wayward pushes and nudges and arms slung over shoulders and around necks between her and Lilly. The easy way she used to needle him and take being needled back.

Logan doesn’t like to be touched by a lot of people. Random, unexpected hands landing on his shoulders make him flinch, loud claps to the back and arms have him shuddering, but he always preened under the soft caresses of Lilly. And, once upon a time, his mother’s hand used to comfort him, sliding his hair back off his face and tending wounds. He has an easy camaraderie with most of his friends at school.

He tries to imagine living without any of it for months on end and then tries imagining the girl in his memories doing the same.

It burns like hot acid guilt up his gullet.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s tired and overworked and he’s been saying it too much, the brief flicker of amusement over her face tells him that she agrees. But she sobers up quickly enough as her eyes fix him in an intent stare.

“Just don’t make me regret this, Logan. That’s all I ask.”

Their skin slides against each other, warm and clammy, when they pull apart.

***

He’s a little bit bereft when she finally insists it’s time to go.

It’s a strange feeling and he doesn’t know what to do with it, it makes him slightly uncomfortable. As awkward as they are together, he really doesn’t want to let go. There’s a little pit, somewhere deep and dark inside his brain, that keeps telling him that if he lets her walk out of his house and get into her car, that she’ll never be back.

“Are…” His hand drags through his hair, fingers automatically parting and separating. “Are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to…”

She smiles politely and nods.

“Really, my dad’s waiting.”

There’s tightness in her smile, in the expectant way she looks at him that makes him think she’s actually counting down the seconds until she leaves, that she wants to get away. And maybe she is; he can’t blame her for it. Honestly, he’s a little surprised that she’s stayed this far at all.

As he’s walking her past the pool, his hand hovers inches from her shoulder. It’s not something he’d ever have thought about before, his natural inclination is to rest his hand there, maybe on the small of her back, and he really wants to do that. But he doesn’t want her to think he’s only doing it because of what she’d said.

A flash of light inside the house catches his eye and he stops thinking at all as he automatically catches hold of her and guides her to the side path that leads all the way around the house instead.

“Let’s go this way.”

His voice is tight and too high and she frowns in confusion as she looks at him. He’s not fast enough in looking away and she follows his glance to the house, to the obvious signs of life inside.

Sudden realization floods her face.

“Oh.” And her stance becomes defensive as her expression hardens. “I get it.”

Then it hits him.

“Wait, Veronica, no.”

But she’s already reaching for her bag, the one he’s carrying and he can do nothing but release it as she tugs it out of his grasp.

“It’s alright, Logan, really.” There’s a catch in her voice that makes him bite down hard on the inside of his cheek. “I get it, you know. My bad, I thought when you said you wanted to be friends again you meant…”

Her hand hovers forgotten in mid air and he’s not entirely sure if she’s gesturing to the inside of his house specifically or the air around them in general.

“Don’t worry.” She leans forward with an exaggerated wink, but her eyes are cold and narrow and her mouth is firmly set. “I won’t besmirch your good name. God forbid the parents know, huh? Couldn’t have that.”

He’s left helpless and alone as she spins on her heel and walks away, making a great show of avoiding the main house, and he can’t do anything but clench his fists open and closed. It’s useless and frustrating and he doesn’t have the words to properly explain his reasons.

For all that she’s been through and all that he’s put her through, there’s something in there that he has an insanely strong urge to protect. He’s known her for years and even if he hadn’t seen her with her father that morning earlier in the week, the both of them joking and moving about each other with practiced ease, he remembers watching her with Keith years earlier.

He doesn’t have the words to explain the sickly shiver he gets when his own father’s eyes slide over any girls he dares to bring home.

He doesn’t have the words to explain that he’d rather she be angry with him that to see Aaron looking at her like that.

***  
***

Veronica’s hands shake as she parks just outside the Sunset Cliffs apartment complex.

“Dammit!” Her right hand leaves the steering wheel, bunching up and slamming down, once, twice and then a third time. “Dammit, dammit!”

She’s got nobody but herself to blame. She knew, she knew going in, every second since Logan Echolls stopped taunting her and started trying to make her trust him again. Every single second, she’d been telling herself not to do it, not to fall for whatever game he was playing.

And then she fell straight into his trap.

God, he must be laughing so hard at her right now.

They’re going to crucify her in school tomorrow.

She thought she was prepared. She thought she was smart enough. After everything, she thought she’d be able to stop caring so much about what they did and thought and said about her. She’d closed herself off from them and it had no longer hurt anymore.

And then she’d let Logan back in.

She’d actually thought he wanted to be friends again.

Her apartment is empty and she suddenly doesn’t want to go back to it, does not want to open the door and be surrounded by shrinking walls. It makes her feel traitorous. Backup is there and he is her best friend. She loves him with everything she has, but suddenly it doesn’t seem quite enough.

It’s a prison.

She didn’t ask to be branded an outcast, she didn’t ask to be the school whore, she didn’t ask for everyone to look at her as if she was handing out free ebola. She didn’t ask to spend her days avoiding meeting people’s eyes, skirting the edges of the halls to reduce the risk of people ‘accidentally’ knocking her books and bags out of her hands, habitually checking rooms before entering, opening her locker away from her face in case of messy explosives.

She didn’t ask for it, but she has it.

And for a brief few days, she had let herself believe that maybe it was going to get easier.

It just makes it all the harder to swallow.

But she knows what she has to do. She has to enter her home and do her homework and not think about familiar faces with hard, hostile expressions. She has to go to bed and forget the week ever existed, just like the last sixteen years of her life. She has to wake up and have a shower and eat her breakfast and then go back to school and not blink at whatever the hell they’re going to say.

She has to pretend that the constant, unchanging company of her father and her dog is not at all lacking in any way, shape, or form. They are all she needs.

In a few years, just over two, she can leave all of it behind. Until then, she refuses to let them break her.

She is stronger than that. She is stronger than them.

Her hand wipes harshly at her cheeks, swiping viciously at the moisture collected there. She’s furious at herself for this, for letting him get to her like that. She should know better. She did know better. She has no right to cry over them.

Her cell buzzes beside her and she glances down at the display.

“Tell me.” She doesn’t bother with small talk to open, just keeps her voice steady and calm and cold. “Just tell me how bad it is.”

“What?”

The hand holding her phone trembles and she bites her lip to make sure it’s steady enough so that he doesn’t hear it over the phone.

“Whatever they’re planning.” Her stomach rolls in on itself. “Whatever the hell you’ve cooked up, just tell me what it is so I can be prepared. You owe me that, Logan.”

“Veronica, please.” And she has to close her eyes to block him out, so that she doesn’t see his face as she hears him. “It’s not like that, I promise. Just listen to me, please…”

But she knows exactly what he looks like, what expression he’s using and how his hands would be imploring her if he was standing there. She can hear him use the exact tone on Lilly.

“You know, I get why.” She doesn’t let him finish, putting him out of his misery. “I mean, all the usual names, the taunts and all the flat tires, they were getting stale. I get it. You had to come up with something new, something big, I appreciate it.”

Her voice shakes a little.

“It was a lot of effort, actually. Bravo. You really know how to make a girl feel special. There’s just one thing…” The very thought of it crystallizes her sorrow and self pity into anger. A cold, seething fury. “Why bring Lilly into it? Why? You didn’t have to…”

“Veronica.” Logan tries again.

“She’d hate you, you know.” It’s something she’s thought often, but hasn’t ever voiced before. “For what you’re doing to me, and in her name, too. She might have been a bitch sometimes, but she was never cruel. You weren’t just mean, you let me think…”

But she doesn’t finish that thought; she doesn’t need to.

She can already hear the jibes in the hallway, _did you really beg Logan Echolls to touch you?_ , _Nobody touches you? From what we hear, everyone does._

“The things you let me say.” And then she has a horrid thought. “Oh my god, that morning…”

“Veronica, no.” He says it sharp and forcefully, demanding that she listen. “I wouldn’t use that against you. I promise.”

“You know.” She laughs, bitter and tired. “I might have believed that once upon a time.”

“What do I have to do?” He pleads and she almost believes the apparent sincerity in his voice. “Just tell me, what do I have to do to prove to you I mean it? I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not planning anything. I’m trying here.”

Veronica sighs.

“Just leave me alone, Logan.” Her head leans forward until she’s leaning against the wheel and her breath comes back at her from the dash. “That’s what I’ve been asking from the start. Stay away from me and leave me the hell alone.”

Her fingers snap the connection closed and she breathes in, gaining enough strength to step outside the door and get on with the rest of her life.

***  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her eyes search for a weakness, that one little spot that will crack open the floodgates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** pg-13.  
>  **Summary:** He didn’t want to do it like this. He tried to do it the easy way.   
> **Spoilers:** Pre-series, but some season one stuff.   
> **Warnings:** None, not really.   
> **Disclaimer:** Oh, they’re not mine. I just take them out of their boxes, play with them, muss there hair a bit, and put ‘em back when I’m done.

*~*~*~*  
 **…TO DREAM** , ch 2.   
*~*~*~*

Milk swirls around the bowl of her spoon as she slowly dips it into her cereal. The silver rests lightly on the pads of her fingers and thumb as she pits the spoon’s weight against the milk’s resistance. Her eyes follow the line of white liquid that pouches out around the lip of the spoon, searching for a weakness, for that one little spot that will crack and open the floodgates. 

“Not hungry?”

Her dad’s hand wraps itself around her forehead and pulls her in for a kiss into the top of her hair. 

“Not really.”

When she looks back, a veritable tidal wave has encompassed the spoon. 

Not hungry is an understatement of such epic proportions as to warrant its own audience groan track. Her stomach is in knots of nauseating, rolling waves and she can taste bile in the back of her throat. She’s done everything in slow motion this morning, trying to drag the time out, from ignoring her alarm, to standing bleary eyed under the shower longer than necessary, to deliberately wavering back and forth about her wardrobe. 

If she dallies any longer, maybe the day will forget she’s supposed to be part of it. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Her dad frowns at her across the bench and opens the fridge for the juice. “You seem oogy.”

Veronica sighs. 

“I’m not oogy.” But she doesn’t sound at all believable. “Well, maybe a little.”

There’s hesitation in the way he fumbles with the juice carton and over handles the glass, adjusting it and readjusting it, trying too hard to appear casual. She watches him instead of the seismic currents created in her cereal. 

“Eat something?” He raises his eyebrows pointedly. “Make your father feel better?”

She lifts the spoon to her mouth and takes an exaggerated bite. 

It’s well past the crucial cut off point from being edible to just being a soggy mess that sits in a gluggy lump at the back of her throat, threatening to make her gag. But she smiles, her eyes widening as she nods at him. 

As he goes to the door, Veronica quickly spits it out in the sink and washes the taste of it away with his juice. 

“Uh, Veronica?” She looks up to see her father holding the door open just a little, looking outside with a curious expression. “You didn’t happen to order a boy with the morning paper, did you?”

Her heart sinks and she takes a deep breath before taking the few steps to reach them. 

Sure enough, it’s Logan Echolls, standing there with a slightly surprised expression and a raised hand as if he was about to knock. Veronica feels her heartbeat tighten, speeding up into immeasurable thunder beats of tension and fear. 

“Not that one.”

She closes the door with an audible click, instantly surprised that she sounds as calm as she does when she feels completely crushed. 

***

Her life has become a series of tactical maneuvers. 

The most mundane acts become a series of survival techniques. Driving to school is a matter of choices that means the difference between changing tires, driving home with a cracked windscreen, a keyed door, and just driving home. If she has homework and is up early enough, Veronica gets to school over an hour before the first bell. She parks close to the main building, the first park, and is assured that high visibility is protection against most vandals. 

Not all, but most. 

Other days, she prefers to arrive five or ten minutes late, driving into the already crowded lot and scoping out the lay of the land, seeing where the worst offenders are, who is parked where, and then slides the Le Baron into one of the far parks. Abandoned, empty on both sides, that plan offers more security from ‘accidental’ scrapings and scratches from nearby cars, but also has the added downside of being hidden and therefore making an easier target for deliberate sabotage.

She really doesn’t remember a time when choosing a place for her car was as simple as looking for an empty space. She must have had it at one point, but that’s gone. 

For the first time in a long time, Veronica squeezes her car somewhere in the middle, between a red Beamer and a cream colored Ford. There are no empty spaces on either side for several rows. 

She holds her breath and watches in the rearview as the yellow X-terra is forced to drive by, then grabs her bag and hurries into the building, hoping to get to her locker and then class before he can catch up with her. Her survival skills have honed her locker time to mere seconds, she doesn’t spend any time in the halls that she doesn’t have to. 

If she hurries, she can do it. 

“Veronica! Wait!” 

Someone is clearly not on her side. Her combination lock is sticky with pink gum and she’s swearing under her breath as the sickly scent of strawberry reaches her nostrils. She lets her head and shoulders fall forward and hit the row of lockers with a thud as she listens to the footsteps slapping down the hall towards her. 

“You know.” Logan pants as he comes to a stop next to her. “For someone intent on running away from me, you’re doing a really bad job.”

She doesn’t answer, merely gestures towards the lock. 

“Bastards.” Realization dawns on his face and he turns to scan the hallway around them. “Who did this? Who…?”

But the only people watching are grouped together, amusement clearly written on their faces and whispers beginning to grow. Veronica knows this routine. No one is going to step forward and getting angry is only going to give them what they want. 

“Don’t.” She says it softly as she grabs his arm, her hand sliding into the crook of his elbow. “It’s not worth it. Let it go.”

He backs down, but she can feel him still bristling under her hand. 

“Let it go?” It comes out like a whisper, hissed and angry. “What do you mean, let it go, they…”

Veronica shifts the strap of her bag on her shoulder and begins to walk away, leaving him to decide if he wants to follow. 

“C’mon.” He falls in step next to her and she continues speaking. “I have to go to Clemmons’ office and get the key for the janitor’s closet. He has the tools to pick the lock.”

He looks surprised. 

“And anyone can do that? Just go get tools from the janitor’s closet?”

Veronica shrugs. 

“No, not anyone.” The smile she gives is forced and too bright and she doesn’t miss the dark look that spreads over his face. “Just me. I’m special.”

“Veronica…”

It’s going to be a long morning if they start down this road again and she turns to face him. 

“Look, it’s just easier, ok? The janitor’s not always here this early and Clemmons isn’t always available to fix whatever ‘accidents’ happen. I think, at this point, he’s ready to just cut me a copy all my very own. It’s not a big deal.” She points down the hall. “Why don’t you go to class and leave me to do what I always do?”

His eyes tighten and his face sets in a stubborn expression and she sighs. 

“No.” 

She doesn’t have time for this. 

“Look, I don’t know what game you’re playing, Logan, but I’m just too tired for this.” His face flinches and she has to force herself not to weaken in front of him. “This last week, the last few months, I’m over it, okay? I’m done. Why don’t you save yourself a lot of energy, just call me a whore, and then we can both get on with our day?”

Over four years, Veronica has seen a lot of things pass over Logan’s face, a lot of them good and even more of them not, cruel and heartless and mean and angry. His expression flickers in front of her and he looks torn as his lower lip is sucked in under his teeth. 

He looks like he’s about to lose control. 

She doesn’t move fast enough and a whimper escapes her throat as he grabs her upper arm and starts propelling her backwards. She can’t see where she’s going and her feet skid awkwardly on the tiled floor as she struggles to regain some sense of balance and control and safety. 

Her back slams into a surface that immediately gives way and they both stumble through the door. 

“Logan! Stop it, let me go!”

He releases her, his hand coming up and fingers splaying in mid air in a show of liberation, but he doesn’t move away from the door and she’s trapped. 

Trapped inside the bathroom. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She doesn’t want to sound breathless and close to breaking down, but her lungs burn with sudden protest and her blood is pounding through her veins, viciously robbing her of anything resembling calm as she rubs the place above her elbow where the skin has turned red. “Have you lost your mind? You can’t just…”

But he’s not listening, panting hard and glaring at her with wounded eyes. 

“Don’t you get it?” And even though his words are angry and hissed and hurt, he still manages to sound gentle. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Veronica! This isn’t a game.”

Her eyes meet his and they hold the stare. She can see how much this whole conversation is frustrating him and, somewhere, she thinks that maybe he really believes what he’s saying. Maybe he thinks he can make everything better with one grand gesture, but it isn’t that simple, and it’s just going to hurt more in the end. 

“Since when?”

Cutting him off quickly is the easiest thing to do. 

“Look. You keep expecting the worst from me.” He hasn’t moved from the door, a fact that hasn’t escaped from either of them. “I get it. It’s natural instinct; I don’t blame you, really. But can’t you just try? Meet me half way?”

There’s a headache pounding away somewhere behind her eyes and she can feel it trying to break free, trying to overwhelm her, but she sets her jaw. 

“No, Logan. Fighting you is not instinct. It’s learned behavior, months of it.” She doesn’t want to break down in front of him, but she can feel it tickling the back of her throat. “Do you know how long it took me not to want to run to you or Duncan?”

He looks honestly confused, just a little bit chastened by her words and this just makes her angrier. 

“I mean, god, Logan. Did you think it was easy for me? Did you think it was a snap decision?” She takes a step forward and he tenses, obviously still not about to let her go and her panic isn’t subsiding any. “Just because you suddenly hated me, doesn’t mean that I… Shit. Those first few weeks, I had to tell myself not to smile at you. Do you know how hard that is?”

She’s shaking and she hates him for bringing it out of her. 

“I knew it, in my head, I knew what would happen, what you’d do or say. I knew how much it would hurt, but that didn’t stop it. It didn’t stop me feeling happy in that first instant I saw you in the hall, that one second before it came back, that red alarm bell inside my head.”

Veronica takes a deep breath and calms herself, making her voice deliberately soft. 

“So, no, expecting the worst from you was never instinct.” 

Instinct is sighing deeply, making herself smaller on the exhale, dropping her shoulders and looking down. Instinct is raising her eyes so she can watch from beneath the shadow of her brow as he visibly relaxes. Instinct is dropping her right shoulder further and reaching under his arm, using her momentum to push him out of the way as she pulls the door open. 

She’s half way out the door when she feels his hand grasping the back of her shirt. 

“Veronica, would you just listen?”

Before she can cry out, she’s pulled backwards, the neck of her shirt coming up tight around her throat and for a brief second, Veronica’s panic hits full bloom. She scrambles to reach backward, scrambles to dig her nails into something, anything, just get away as her feet dig into the ground. 

And then the sound of tearing hits her and she can breathe. 

“I’m sorry.” The words come from behind her as she grasps the doorframe and tries to steady herself. “Jesus, Veronica, I’m sorry.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” 

She spins around, ready to continue the tirade, but his face stops her cold. He’s gone ghostly white and his mouth is hanging open in shock as he keeps looking between his hand and the space where it was on her back. 

“I didn’t…” The words get lost somewhere in the back of his throat. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”

Her hand comes up and fingers the neck of her shirt. She can feel the tear, it’s not huge, but it’s going to be noticeable. What she wants to do is yell at him, scream at him, maybe even leap forward and lay a good, hard punch on him somewhere painful. 

But she can’t. He looks as if he’s about to be sick. 

“It’s okay.”

She’s as surprised by her words as he is. 

“No.” The shake of his head is violent. “No, it’s not, I could have… I was… It’s not okay, Veronica, it’s not.”

There’s fear in his eyes that runs a lot deeper than grabbing her shirt to stop her leaving and it leaves her with a thick, eddying feeling in the pit of her stomach, something that inches and worms around and makes her nauseous. 

The door closes with a click and she sees the tentative way he looks behind her and then back again, the small hint that she should have gone out when she had the chance.

“For what it’s worth.” Ghost fingertips brush against the skin of her back, star shaped, and she can feel the echo of him grabbing the shirt. The shirt, not her. “I didn’t think you were going to hurt me. Not like that.”

Emotions war over his face and he sucks his lips in so tight she thinks she can see the pattern of his teeth through them. There’s an almost imperceptible nod as he gives into relief, a gesture more for himself, she thinks, than her. 

“I have a jacket in my locker.” She says it to get the air moving again, to bridge the gap between untalkable and mundane. “Don’t worry about it.”

When she turns to go, he calls out to her again and she closes her eyes, wishing she had the strength to just walk away, to leave him the way he left her. 

“What?” The door is solid against her back as she turns around and she leans against it. “What do you want to say, Logan?”

He takes several steps forward, bringing himself closer to her, moving slowly enough for her to back off if she really wants. 

“You asked me. Last night you asked me.” And his eyes are so intense as he steps forward that she can’t help but look away, her eyes drifting to the side, catching sight of herself in the mirror. “You asked me not to make you regret this.”

She looks trapped, even to herself, she looks like she’s ready to take flight, but stranger than that, she looks flushed and the slightest bit excited and it makes her harden, even as he reached towards her. 

“Yeah.” It comes out like a bitter laugh. “And that lasted all of half an hour, didn’t it?”

The mirror shimmers as she blinks and watches the reflection of his hand twist in on itself.

“I didn’t…” It’s a physical thing, the way he pulls himself back, forces himself to remain even. “It wasn’t like that. I promise. It really wasn’t. You left so fast, you didn’t let me…”

“What?” It’s a challenge, a distraction, an escape. “Explain? Ok, go ahead, explain how hiding me from your parents is a good thing!”

He leans in closer. 

“I wasn’t hiding _you_ , Veronica.” He’s too close as he comes up with a challenge of his very own. “And when the fuck have I ever cared about my parents and what looked good for them?”

That’s the winning shot and he knows it, she sighs and her eyes close as she’s bombarded with countless memories of giggling voices trying to hit low, deep, overly serious tones as they create their own commentary for a movie. She remembers a private screening of Hollywood types that led to her, Lilly and Duncan not being welcome at the Echolls house for nearly three months. 

He’s right, he has never been careful about Aaron’s feelings, or Lynn’s for that matter, and the thought that he would suddenly be ashamed of what they’d think of her is almost ludicrous. If they were to disapprove, Logan would be more likely to parade her around in front of them. 

She opens her eyes when she feels his breath near her face and their reflections are closer than before in the mirror. 

“I overreacted?”

It’s high pitched and girly and the only apology he’ll get; they both know it. 

“Yes.” He breathes out in relief as she watches the reflection of his hand reach out to touch the side of her face. “I didn’t do anything, except what you asked.”

And rather than feel it, she sees it happen in the mirror. Her traitorous reflection doesn’t pull away, doesn’t flinch from the hand that lands softly on the side of her face, it actually tilts its head just a little bit, leans further into the touch as her skin turns a deep red. 

_Nobody touches me anymore_.

She’s not running away, not Veronica and not the girl in the mirror and if that girl can stay, then so can she, even if her blood is racing too fast and too hot, even if her breath is catching too hard deep in her chest and her fingers are curling up against the wood of the door, trying to scratch a way out. 

“Veronica.” His voice whispers almost as softly as his fingertips sliding against her jaw. “I…”

But it’s too much and she can’t take it, not when everything tells her he’s about to lean closer and try to kiss her, not when it’s Logan, not when she’s pressed against the door in the girls’ bathroom, not when _he said_ and _they said_ are echoing around her brain with red alarm bells that ring out the word _enemy_. 

“No.” She gasps as she shrugs away from him. “I can’t. Not like… I just… I can’t.”

He backs up immediately and she can finally take in air, deep lungfuls of cool oxygen. 

“I’m sorry.” He says it softly and gently and the understanding in his tone makes her crumple just a little more. “I didn’t mean… look… can we start again? Sit with me at lunch.”

She blinks and turns her head to meet him head on. 

“Lunch? Logan, I…”

“It’s just food.” He rushes in, breaking the stride of whatever she was about to say. “You still eat, don’t you? Sit with me and we’ll talk. Let me prove to you I mean it when I say I just want to be your friend again.”

Her mind is eddying with a thousand different thoughts and memories and she can think of countless reasons to explain to him why it’s a bad idea. 

But her mouth ends up saying yes.

***

School days are a minefield for Veronica. 

The open hostility of the courtyard and the halls is one thing, where the attacks on her person come in physical waves, her car, her locker, her books, loud comments in stage whispers that she’s meant to hear. But the classrooms hold deadlier, quieter, subtler battles. 

The hint of a whisper, a giggle behind her head, innocent faces when she turns to look. 

She has long since figured out that ignoring it does not make it go away. 

Depending on the class, which is just a polite way of saying that it really depends on the teacher involved, she can usually keep her eyes glued to her books, doing the work and earning good enough grades to keep her father happy. 

Teachers are supposed to be professional, they’re supposed to be objective, but teachers are only human and Veronica knows this all too well. 

These are the same teachers who taught Lilly Kane, who gave her detention five days a week and then tearfully claimed she was the best student they had ever had the good fortune to teach, teachers who vocally stood against her father, rejoicing in his decline. 

Teachers who look the other way when spitballs fly across the room, a small click of gratification in the corners of their lips when the whispers turn vicious and openly aggressive. 

She can plan her day by the classes she has. 

Breath comes easier in English, with Miss Murphy’s piercing, eagle eyes stopping any murmur before it begins, small gestures of understanding and support, gentle, but always firm and never appearing to be selective or choosing favorites. Or in Algebra, when Mr. Hayes keeps everyone too busy to think about her and gives her bathroom passes without question when she needs them. 

But right now is fourth period and she has History with Miss Saunders and there’s just little too many hushed conversations and snide laughter pointed her way. It doesn’t bother her, it doesn’t, she won’t let it. It doesn’t matter if she’s already flustered and confused and can’t stop thinking about Logan and how all she’d wanted was to get away and, yet, part of her didn’t. 

And that’s what scares her the most. 

She’s not listening, but her ears pick up the whispered _Logan_ behind her and the ever present, somehow always hurtful _slut_ , again and again, _slut_. It’s like they know, like they can smell her weaknesses and automatically sense that she’s built up resistance to everything they can say, except that word, sprawled in white across her car. 

_Slut_ , _slut_ , _slut_ , _slut_ , _slut_ , _slut_ ¸ _slut_. 

And that’s before any of them know she was pressed against a door, watching herself in the mirror as her most hated adversary made her tremble like a whipped puppy. 

She can’t breathe. 

“Miss Saunders?” It’s a whisper, barely there as she walks to the front of the class. “I need to be excused.”

True to form, Miss Saunders narrows her eyes, looking at Veronica as if she was something dragged in on the bottom of a shoe, her mouth narrows and a spark of cruelty lights in her eyes. 

“There’s twenty minutes until the bell, Miss Mars, surely you can wait like the rest of us?”

Any other day she wouldn’t give the teacher the satisfaction, but she can’t help it. 

“Please?”

A sly twist of the mouth tells Veronica what the answer will be before it comes and she’s not surprised to hear the negative, said loudly enough to grab the attention of everyone else in the room. A rebuke, a spot light, another reason. 

Veronica chews the insides of her cheeks and holds her head high as she walks back to her desk, not looking anyone in the face. Her hands shake as she steadily stacks her books into a neat, carriable pile and picks them up. 

“Veronica?” Miss Saunders’ snide voice pricks her conscious. 

She doesn’t respond as she walks to the door. 

“Veronica, I said sit down!”

There’s hooting and whistling and the expected loud suggestions of exactly where she’s going and why, but Veronica doesn’t stop, she keeps putting one foot in front of the other until she can break free of the room, of the stifling walls, of the slowly building panic that’s boiling up inside her blood. 

She sits on the lid of a toilet; her head in her hands, trying to catch her breath as she feels the walls of the stall close in. 

The door opens in a loud, careless sweep. 

“Oh my god.” Giggles a voice. “Did you hear what happened?”

“What?” Whispers an eager voice in return. “Tell me!”

Veronica is bombarded with the sounds of the teenage girl in her natural habitat, flocked together at the bathroom mirror. 

“Well, you know about Logan Echolls and that skank, right?”

“Veronica Mars?” 

It comes out rushed and whispered like a curse, as if the words of her name lingering any longer than necessary on a tongue will leave a nasty taste and possibly worse. 

“Yeah, _apparently_ she mauled him right in the middle of the hallway this morning. Dragged him into the bathroom.”

 _Slut_. 

The word echoes around her brain. 

“She has _no_ shame.”

“It gets worse, I didn’t see it, but I have it on good authority that when they finally left, like, half an hour later, her clothes were torn nearly completely off.”

Veronica fingers the half inch long tear in the neck of her shirt and wonders what they’ll say if she walks out of the stall to correct them. Something stops her, though, because she’s not entirely sure if they’re wrong. Although not in the way they’re thinking. 

“Oh my god.” Breathless exclamation and probably a roll of the eyes. “What does he _see_ in her?”

 _Slut_ , _slut_ , _slut_. 

“Isn’t it obvious? What does any guy see in her? He’s just using her for sex, god, she must be responsible for the spread of STDs all through the So-Cal area. He could do so much better.”

 _I’m not trying to hurt you, Veronica, this isn’t a game_.

He’d said it and she’d believed him, had thought that maybe he really just wanted to be friends, and then he’d moved in and all she could hear was his voice slurring what he thought of her, but he’d been drunk then and every one of his sober actions said otherwise.

“I hope he’s using protection.”

“I hope he’s using bleach!”

Laughter, snide and hollow as it echoes off the bathroom tiles. 

“He better wise up soon, no one’s gonna want to date him if they think he’s been with her. Can you just imagine? It’d be weekly tests at the clinic and shots of penicillin. Just to be sure.”

And if she’d let him, if she’d let him kiss her, if she’d let him do the sorts of things Lilly used to tell her he did, what would he say then? Would he still be there? Or would he be hanging her out to dry, all her imperfections and inadequacies, letting everyone laugh at how scared she was? 

Like he had done before.

Would he stand up for her? 

Like he hadn’t. 

“Well, he does like skanks. Wasn’t he doing Rebecca from Alverston? And Caitlin?”

“Yeah, there’s a sign of taste.”

“You know.” The voice takes on a serious, heavy tone. “He’s only talking to her now because it’s been over six months since Lilly Kane died. She’s probably the closest thing to Lilly he’ll ever get.”

Lilly’s name sends her into a tailspin of voices inside her head, mostly Logan, all his insults and promises and pleas blurring into one. 

_…trying to hurt you… a game… slut… hurt… please, listen… slut… sorry, sorry, so sorry…_

“That’s something I’ll never get. Why would Lilly Kane put up with the likes of her?”

“Beats me. I think she was playing with her, like cat with a mouse. She was always bitching about how dull Veronica was, I don’t know how she put up with her at all, other than lead her around on a string.”

_… always said you were like a stone cold fish…_

“God, who would have guessed Veronica Mars would end up being the town bike? Lilly would be shocked.”

_…should just slip you a few drinks and get it over with…_

“Are you kidding? Where do you think she got it? I bet Lilly would have hated the competition, now _there_ was a girl with a reputation.”

“Lilly? Lilly Kane?”

“Oh my god, you didn’t hear…?” 

The girls disappear in a flurry of sound and giggles, the snapping of compacts and lipsticks, clouds of fruity, musky perfume, leaving behind an empty echo of their voices, behind the lonely sound of the bathroom door sliding back into place. 

And Veronica’s hand shakes as she smears it across her face, wiping away tears she won’t admit are there. 

They don’t mean anything. They’re just stupid girls who know nothing about the people they’re talking about. She has trained herself not to care about them, about any of them or anything they have to say. They never spent hours laying on the chairs by the Kane pool while the sun leached energy from their bones, debating the merits of Chunky Monkey versus Choc Chip Cookie Dough. 

They never knew Lilly the way Veronica knew Lilly. 

_… oh my god, Doofus, this is so lame…_

She runs the cold water in the tap and lets it flow over her wrists for several seconds, feeling the sting of ice on her skin, the shock of it against her heated veins, before splashing it over her face, washing away salt and weakness. 

_… do you know how much she used to laugh about you behind your back?…_

Veronica keeps her back straight and her head facing forward as she walks down the hall. Her teeth bite into the insides of her cheeks, but face is blank and she doesn’t see anything as her feet start slowly, calmly, and then begin to gather speed until she’s almost jogging for the door. 

Sunlight makes her blink as she all but stumbles into the yard. 

Her car is several rows down, not the longest walk, but definitely not the shortest. It’s not in the usual spaces, but she has a finely tuned radar, a deeply rooted instinct and knowledge of how to track her escape routes quickly. 

She just needs to get to the Le Baron, slide her key into the lock, open the door, and fall inside. Once she’s there, she can regain some measure of privacy, of control, of safety. There are still hours to go before school ends and she doesn’t care, anymore. She just needs to get to her car. 

Her car. 

Veronica’s bag slides off her shoulders and she bites off the weary sob that jumps up her throat as the bell rings behind her. 

***  
***

Logan reaches out and adjusts the container on the table. Just a fraction of an inch. Pulling it a little bit closer to him. Then he thinks better of it and pushes it back. Fixes it. He doesn’t want to look as if he’s thought about it too much. But maybe it looks too casual, too forced, and he can’t stop himself nudging it a little to the left. 

_Jesus, man, it’s a fucking box of cannelloni; she’s going to eat it, not frame it._

He brings his hand up to run through his hair, just to give it something else to do. 

Veronica Mars likes Italian food. She does not like him. This much he knows. 

He checks his watch and looks around the yard. 

They were friends once and she was cute in an almost sexless way, because he was with Lilly and she was with Duncan and he’d never really allowed, or admitted really, any truly sexual thoughts about her. Dreams and stray, unconscious fantasies did not count. 

Then they weren’t friends and the only thoughts he’d had about her were cruel, sexual or otherwise, hateful and spiteful and spoiled. Enjoying her pain, reveling in it more than he had his own. 

And even after, when he’d realized the extent to which he’d royally screwed her over and was trying to make amends, when he’d finally admitted to himself that maybe she was a little bit more than just cute, he hadn’t really considered it anything more than a one sided thing. 

He wanted to make up for the wrongs he’d done. And, occasionally, he wanted to throw her against the wall and do despicably evil things that would make her blush and moan his name out loud. 

But until this morning, he had never once thought it was reciprocated. 

He can’t stop thinking about her, backed up against the bathroom door, her mouth parted, lips hovering and waiting in mid air, her breath turning shallow, her eyes going wide and her skin turning a bright, bright red. He’d wanted to kiss her so badly and the fact that she’d wanted the same thing had only made him want it more. 

She’d been so close, another inch and he would have tasted her. 

Logan pulls the box a little bit closer to him. Maybe she won’t mind. Maybe she’ll sit close enough for their elbows and knees and thighs to meet, to clash, a few mistaken touches and accidental brushings of skin. 

Maybe he’ll make her blush again, all breathless and wide-eyed. 

He feels expectation tingling in the tips of his fingers. It surprises him how much he wants this. 

“What are you doing?”

The smile he wears is one of the fakest he can muster and, coming from an Echolls, that is quite an impressive feat as he looks up and gives a smarmy grin, squinting into the sunlight. 

”Well, this is food, I’m sitting at a table, and this is the lunch hour. Now, I know it’s a struggle, but see if you can keep up.”

Duncan frowns. 

“You know what I mean, man.”

Logan’s eyebrows rise dramatically. 

“Actually no.” He picks up a napkin and folds it between the fingers of his right hand. “I never know what you fucking mean, anymore. Enlighten me.”

It’s a challenge and the answering flash in Duncan’s eyes makes it clear that it hasn’t gone unanswered. 

“This is _her_ table.” It’s almost comical, the way Duncan leans down to whisper the word, like it’s distasteful. “You’re waiting for _her_.”

Logan grins. 

“For Veronica, you mean?” He says it loudly; clear enough to make the other boy flinch, enunciating her name with relish. “Yes, I’m waiting for Veronica. Veronica and I are having lunch together.”

The last word has enough suggestion in it to make the vein in Duncan’s neck pulse. 

“You remember Veronica, don’t you, Dunc? She’s such a sweet girl.” He licks his lips and puts a sparkle in his eye. “Cute, too.”

Duncan’s hand slams down on the table. 

“I told you to leave her alone.”

Logan slowly looks down, eyeing the hand as if it were something that had crawled off the bottom of his shoe, before carefully reaching out and lifting it up, depositing it back in the general vicinity of Duncan’s body. 

“And I said no. So I guess this is what’s called an impasse.”

There’s a murmur to the side and Logan can see half a dozen of his so called friends watching, buzzing between themselves about the show that’s being put on display, apparently for their amusement. 

“You’re really doing this?” Duncan’s lip curls. “Because she’s not worth it, you know she isn’t.”

Carefully, slowly, delicately, Logan folds the napkin and lays it flat on the table and then stands up, waiting until he’s reached full height before he looks up, straight into Duncan’s eyes. 

“You’re my best friend, DK.” Soft, even words, but there is no mistaking the meaning behind them. “But if I ever hear you speak about her like…”

“Like what?” Duncan sneers. “Like you haven’t said worse? Like you weren’t there?”

The whispers heighten, growing, spreading like wildfire and the audience has doubled. 

“Not anymore.” They’re barely inches apart. “What the hell did she do to you?”

Duncan blinks and Logan’s not entirely sure if it’s from surprise at the question or reluctance to answer it. 

“What?”

“Don’t play the innocent with me, okay?” His fingers curl in under themselves by his side. “You want me to stay away from her, then this is your chance. Tell me what she did that was so wrong. What started this big crusade? If it’s good enough, I might just walk away.”

There’s a standoff and Duncan’s jaw works back and forth over his tongue. Logan can see a million different words waiting to spring forth, but none are what he asked for and would probably cement this argument between them. 

“Yeah.” It’s a small, smug grin. “That’s what I thought. How ‘bout you go back to your table of zombies and leave me alone?”

They both turn their heads to look, a gesture that means nothing and Logan frowns as he notices the glint in Duncan’s eyes. He’s seen it before, several times, enough to know what it means. He’s just never seen it on his supposed best friend before. 

“We’re your friends, Logan.” There’s something chilling about the calm that Duncan exudes. “And she doesn’t want you. She’ll never want you.”

Logan doesn’t back down. Duncan should know that. He hasn’t for a long, long time. He doesn’t hide his tail between his legs and slink away when someone ruffles their feathers. If Duncan wants to show him how tough he thinks he is, then he’s quite willing to prove him wrong. 

“You sure about that? Really?” Smooth, sweet voice; confident and sure. “Because that’s not what it looked like to me when I had her up against the wall bef…”

His spine jars against the table and Duncan’s hand wraps itself around his throat. As he struggles to get a grip on Duncan’s arm, Logan sees the dark red, almost purple color of Duncan’s face. He’s so angry; it looks as if he can’t even form words. 

Logan brings his knee up and jams it into the side of Duncan’s thigh. 

“S’the matter?” He gasps as the hands loosen and allow him breath. “Hit too close to home, did I?”

He’s shoved back on the table and the sound it makes, metal screeching on cement, is grating in his ears as he feels the reverberations through his kidneys. Something snaps inside of him and he grits his teeth as he begins to fight back in earnest. 

Duncan is large, larger than Logan, he has the strength and the build, enough for most people to leave him alone, but he’s softer, he’s never had to fight for anything in his life and that is one area where Logan has the advantage. 

A lifetime’s worth. 

“Get off me!”

His forearm snakes around Duncan’s arm, griping it in a vice, and he bangs Duncan’s elbow down against the surface of the table, the thud heavy and painful. Duncan grunts as he lets go, allowing Logan to squirm out of reach. 

“What’s going on, here?” They both stop, panting and angry and vicious, as the deep voice of Mr. Clemmons breaks in. “Boys?”

Logan adjusts the collar of his shirt, casually and carelessly. 

“Nothing, sir, not at all.”

Clemmons raises an eyebrow at Duncan. Around them, the crowd hums with expectation, pulsing with the promise of a fight, while simultaneously pretending not to look interested. Duncan just shrugs with an innocent expression; his face still red, but losing color quickly. 

“Why don’t you two break it up?” Mr. Clemmons gives them a dark, threatening look. “I’ve had enough trouble from you, lately, Mr. Echolls.”

Duncan smiles, tight and tense. 

“You coming to lunch, Logan?”

He shrugs his answer. 

“No, thanks, buddy. I’m fine right here.”

There’s a slow, simmering minute as Duncan stands still, his hands tightening into fists and loosening again. Logan counts the seconds, watching and waiting, ready for the next move, whatever it is. 

Duncan walks away. 

Logan watches him as the flock of people waiting at the table surrounds him. They part like the red sea, enveloping him in their midst and then closing around him. He doesn’t miss the looks they send his way, the way they bow their heads together to whisper. 

The symbolism is not lost on him, either. 

He sits back down at the table, squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine. The box of food has been turned on its side and there’s a thin trail of red sauce leaking from the lid. Without blinking, he reaches forward and sets it right again, using a napkin to wipe the edge of the seal and jiggling the container to settle the contents. 

Logan checks his watch and looks around the suddenly unfriendly courtyard. 

There’s only ten minutes left for lunch. 

***

“Dude!” Dick jogs up beside him as he stands at the edge of the empty car space. “What the hell was all that about?”

This is where she parked, he’s sure of it. 

“I don’t know, Dick.” He shrugs. “You tell me.”

“You committed social fucking suicide, that’s what happened.” Dick sighs dramatically, as if he’s relaying the fall of Rome. “And over that who…”

“Be careful.”

Two words, that’s all he says, but they’re enough. 

“Look, I don’t know.” And to Dick’s credit, he does sound genuinely sad. “It’s your life, your choice and all that, who the hell am I to stand in the way? But, you know, you gotta think about this sorta thing. You can’t just throw your status away for a piece of... for a girl”

The quick, nervous evasion would make him smile, if he wasn’t so tired and worn down from the whole situation. He turns to Dick instead. 

“Do you know why?” The puzzlement that slashes across Dick’s face isn’t entirely a surprise. Logan breathes in and looks forward again, at the empty space. “Did you ever ask why we turned on her like that?”

“Duuuude.” 

It’s a low, deep warning. Not a threat. Dick couldn’t sound threatening if he tried, but a rumble of disproval, a negation of the merits of the subject. 

“I’m serious, man.” Logan continues. “You used to be her friend, didn’t ever occur to you to ask why?”

Dick eyes him warily. 

“You were there, too, man. You were right there for the worst of it. Don’t act like you weren’t. Don’t start acting like you’re this big hero now.”

“I’m not.” He agrees softly. “I know I’m not.”

There is nothing but circles to run in, he’s said very little at all, but Logan knows that Dick doesn’t have any of the answers. He didn’t really expect any. Dick has never been a complicated person, he does what he’s told and doesn’t question why. 

A low-pitched giggle, mean and wiped out, sounds behind them. 

“What’re you lookin’ for, guys? That chick’s car? She’s gone.”

Logan spins. 

“You saw her?” He sounds too eager, he knows it, but he doesn’t really care. “Where’d she go?”

“Man.” The kid drawls the word out, enjoying the sound of his own voice and the pleasure of the thought that precedes it. He’s a year ahead of them in school and Logan can barely think of a name to go with his face. “You missed it. Someone got her tires. Three of ‘em. She spent most of fifth changing them.”

A growl begins deep in his throat, but Logan holds it back. Fifth period, right before lunch. 

“Where’d she go?”

“She drove off.” The kid gestures into thin air. “God, but she looked _pissed_.”

The way he says it, it sounds like he means that they should be sorry they missed it. A week ago, it probably would have been the case, but now it couldn’t be further from it. Someone isn’t keeping up with the school gossip. 

Logan fishes his keys out of his pocket and begins walking to his car. 

“Dude!”

“Fuck off, Dick.”

He says it as nicely as he can. 

***

Finding her isn’t as easy as driving to her apartment. 

Her LeBaron isn’t in the carpark, but he walks up to her door, anyway. Just to be sure. After several knocks with nothing but the soft whine of a dog behind the door, Logan’s fairly sure she’s not there. She wouldn’t ignore the mutt, no matter how upset she was. 

He has to think for several minutes before he comes up with any other alternatives. 

Her dad’s office is a wash, too, the street empty as he looks up at the stained glass windows. 

And he’s out of ideas. 

It strikes him as faintly ridiculous how much he feels he needs to find her, given that he obviously knows nothing about who she is anymore. Driving randomly around town - although he doesn’t quite consider the local cheap auto shop a random choice given the circumstance, even if it doesn’t turn up any results - isn’t getting him anywhere. 

Eventually, after forty minutes, he spots her car sitting lonely at the edge of the beach. 

He parks next to her and spends a minute eying the tires. He can’t spot anything obviously wrong with them, but he’s not really an expert. Anything happens to his car and he calls his parents’ driver. It’s that simple. 

She’s not hard to find, the beach is deserted for an early afternoon. 

It’s not Italian, but Logan buys some hotdogs from a nearby vendor and shields them as best he can from the sand as he makes his way over. Veronica doesn’t seem to notice him as she watches the ocean, she hasn’t moved since he first saw her, arms clinging her elbows to her body. 

“Still hungry?”

He asks it like she hasn’t just stood him up in front of the entire school, as if it’s not possible that she’s back to hating him, as if they’re just friends. 

“More like ‘still not’.” Her nose wrinkles as she looks over. “Hot dogs?”

Relief surges through him. She’s not angry with him, at least. 

“Nothin’ but the best, I guarantee it.”

He offers her one and she takes it slowly, looking down at the food in her hands without moving to eat it or even throw it away. It’s almost as if she doesn’t really know what to do with it. Logan can sympathize, his stomach is feeling somewhat tense and queasy as he stands next to her and looks out towards the spot she’d been staring at. 

“Logan?” She asks eventually, still not looking at his face. “I think I’m ready.”

His brain skids around several corners, trying to look for the purpose of that statement. Everything he comes up with, however, is self serving and highly unlikely. 

“For what?”

She shrugs and picks idly at the napkin surrounding the hotdog bun. 

“To know, what Lilly really thought.” 

Logan honestly has no clue what she’s talking about and it must show on his face. 

“You said.” Her voice is tight and controlled and scares him just a little bit. “You said Lilly used to laugh about me behind my back. You said she called me a stone cold fish and thought Duncan should just get me drunk and get it over with.”

Her words shatter him, because he does remember them. At the time, he’d chosen them for their cruelty, for the express purpose of wounding her quickly and with precision. But even then he’d had no idea just how accurately they’d sting. 

Just how barbaric and cruel they really were, given what had actually happened. 

He has no words, really, no apology to make up for it. 

“I’m an idiot, Veronica.” She gives a little hiccup and he has no idea what to make of it. “It wasn’t true. She never said those things, I was trying to be mean.”

Her laugh is bitter and slightly cruel. 

“I know that. I just…” And just this side of desperate. “Logan, if anyone knew, it’d be you. Tell me what she really used to say.”

He doesn’t answer, just stares out to the ocean, his stomach getting heavier with clay every second that passes. There are a lot of things he remembers about Lilly, about Lilly and Veronica, and he’s not sure if he’s ready to examine them. 

But apparently Veronica is. 

“Sometimes I think she hated me.”

Veronica’s face snaps to him instantly. 

“Logan…”

But he doesn’t let her finish. 

“She used to have all these guys and she loved to rub my face in them. I mean, Lilly had herself a male harem of guys on the side.” He sniffs. “She came to my house once just reeking of sex. I knew she’d slept with someone. I knew it.”

Veronica doesn’t say anything. 

“She knew I couldn’t stay mad at her. She knew I hated her for it, but that I’d take her back as soon as she crooked her finger at me. And she knew I hated myself more for it. She used me.” His voice shakes and he tries to rein it in, tries to breathe normally. “I kissed one other girl and it was Armageddon, fuck. She acted like I’d betrayed the sanctity of our relationship. She slept around and I was the villain.”

Logan looks down at the rapidly cooling dog in his hand. 

“That was the kind of girlfriend she was, Veronica.”

“I… I don’t think I want to hear…”

He looks at the slowly creeping flush over her face. 

“But that wasn’t the kind of friend she was. She loved you, Veronica.” His stomach curls at the admission, acidic and spiteful. “Fuck, I used to be so goddamn jealous of you and you never even knew it.”

She’s speechless. 

At some unspoken signal, they both drop down into the sand, sitting side by side. 

“I think you’re the one and only person she loved more than herself. Don’t ever doubt that, okay?” She can’t look at him, she can’t even look forward, and she has to turn all the way away, so that all he can see is the back of her head. “She used to say that when she grew up, she wanted to be like you.”

Her shoulders shake and he breathes, looking forward and giving her the time she needs. 

The waves keep rolling in. 

“C’mon.” She says eventually, patting his knee and standing up. “I have things I need to do. Are you coming?”

***

She insists on taking her car and he sits in the passenger seat awkwardly. 

“So.” His hands brush up and down his thighs, smoothing the material. “What happened? At school?”

She shrugs as she pulls the car into an impressive hairpin curve around a tight corner. Her shoulders lean into the movement and her body moves effortlessly, practiced, into the action. Wherever she’s going, she’s been there before, several times. 

“Nothing.” She blushes, but her eyes flick over to his and then back to the road. “Not much. I overheard some gossip; it was stupid. You’d think I’d be used to it by now. And then my tires…”

Some gossip. 

As if he doesn’t know the sorts of things they say about her at school. As if he hasn’t said them himself. 

Logan fidgets with the creases of his pants as she slows down and turns the car into a small space. He looks out the windscreen and sees the sign to a run down gas station he wouldn’t even bother glaring at in an emergency. 

Veronica seems comfortable enough with the place, though, because she gives him a warning look as she plasters a smile on her face and jumps out of the driver’s seat with more enthusiasm than he’s seen in her for a very long time. 

“Miss Mars!” A greasy voice alerts Logan to the guy walking towards them with a grin on his face. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She blushes a little as she gestures to the trunk. 

“My spares need looking at, they got a little slashed.” She dips her head a little and Logan is intrigued. “Can you see if you can patch them up, Joe? I don’t know if I can afford new ones.”

The man named Joe barely gives Logan a glance, but what he does is significant enough, his big, meaty hands wiping oil onto a filthy rag as he chews over his thoughts. 

“How many of ‘em?”

Veronica forces a deeper blush and Logan nearly laughs. She’s playing this guy like a finely tuned piano and Logan’s thoroughly delighted to be witnessing it. 

“All three?”

The admission catches in Logan’s throat. Three? Who the hell keeps three spares in the trunk of a car? Then it hits him: Veronica does. 

She hands over her keys and Logan watches as they both lean over the open trunk and look in, like pros that know what they’re doing. He feels like an outsider, like the third wheel. And he’s not entirely sure if he likes it. 

Joe gives a low whistle. 

“I know.” Veronica agrees. “They really meant business this time. They got my back right, too, but I patched and pumped it. It’s good as new!”

Logan shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought of two giggling, pretty pink girls standing by the side of the road, waiting for him to come pick them up, tries not to think about exactly how much has happened to change one of them so much she’s now a mobile one woman auto repair shop. 

Joe grunts and Logan’s pleased to note that he goes to check said tire, anyway. 

“So?” Veronica asks, finally. “What’re we looking at?”

Logan’s not sure he trusts this guy as he fingers his chin in thought. 

“Not gonna be cheap.”

Veronica’s face falls. 

“How not cheap?”

“Three?” Joe ponders, maddeningly slow. “Four, maybe?”

Logan whips out his wallet. 

“I’ll pay.”

Joe glares at him, obviously disgusted, and Veronica’s mouth falls open in shock. 

“Logan!” She hisses, embarrassed and blushing profusely, dismissing him easily as she turns back and soothes Joe with a hand on his arm. “Four dozen? That’s a lot of baking, but you got it.”

Joe nods solemnly. 

“And I’ll convince my dad to give you a discount on your case?”

That’s the clincher and Joe grins, hefting two tires into his arms at once. 

“You drive a hard bargain!” 

Veronica calls after him. 

Logan walks up next to her. 

“You could have told me you weren’t talking money.”

She smiles at him, triumphant and completely enjoying his misery. 

“How was I supposed to know you were going to pull out your big bad wallet book and try to impress me with the size of your cheque book?”

“I… I wasn’t…”

But he really can’t finish the sentence and the dancing light in the back of her eyes tells him she knows it. 

***

It’s late afternoon when they get back to the beach. Logan’s mildly surprised to find his Xterra in one piece. 

“So?” 

Veronica smiles awkwardly as she leans against the driver’s side door of her car, her hands automatically finding their way into the front pockets of her jeans. 

“So.” He answers carefully. 

They’ve driven to several places, talking about inconsequential things while doing strange things he wouldn’t normally consider to be on the ‘to do’ list of a teenage girl, but Veronica does them with ease and doesn’t seem to question the need to photograph a shop owner meeting with a guy in the alley behind his market. 

They’ve even stopped by her apartment to pick up the dog, Backup, who’s running excitedly back and forth across the beach. 

Veronica wants to walk him and Logan gets the idea that this is an activity she does by herself, especially if the expectant look she gives him is any indication. 

“I guess…” She shrugs her shoulders a little. “I guess I’ll see you on Monday, then?”

“Monday.” He nods. “Right.”

She laughs a little and looks out to the beach, her eyes following Backup as he sprints back and forth within a short distance, never straying too far from her. 

He doesn’t want to go. 

“Veronica?” He can’t help himself stepping closer to her. “I…”

She blinks, a total shuttering of her eyelids, as if to separate the rest of the day from this moment, and her arms wrap back around her torso, shielding herself. 

“Don’t, Logan, don’t do this.”

He reaches out to touch her hair and she doesn’t exactly pull away. 

“Don’t do what?”

“This.” But her eyes are sharpened, narrowed points, making her intention clear. “I know you said you wouldn’t remember what you said when you were drunk, but I do. And I know what you think you think about me now, that you’re sorry about before, and you’re trying to make up for it, but…”

She bites her lip. 

“But I can’t do this. Not with you.” Her fingers grip her elbows with vice like strength, knuckles turning white. “There’s too much stuff between us. There’s too much stuff with me. I’m not ready.”

He steps closer and she lifts her chin, sucking air in through her nostrils as if she’s trying very hard not to lose control in front of him. 

“It’s okay.” He tells her softly, reaching out and closing his fingers softly around the flesh of her upper arm. “I really do like you, Veronica, and if things were different, I’d be all over you in a second, but right now? I just want to be your friend.”

She sniffs and he holds his breath. 

“Please?” He’s not above begging, not now. “Just try?”

Finally, she nods, a small little agreement, and he thinks they’re both as surprised as each other when she allows him to pull her forward for a hug. Friendly and platonic, he wraps his arms around her and she stiffens against him for a second before relaxing, before easing into it. 

He breathes in the scent of her hair and knows he’s a goddamn liar. 

***  
***

He didn’t want to do it like this. 

It’s not like he didn’t give Logan a choice in the matter. He tried to do it the easy way. 

Duncan dials the number. 

“Hello?”

Just hearing her voice curling around his earlobe makes his skin tingle. 

“Veronica?”

“Who…?” And he can practically see the confusion swarm her face, the way her brow would crinkle in the middle, the way she’d pull the phone away from her ear to stare down at it. It makes his breath shallow. “Duncan?”

He puts the right amount of hesitation into his voice. 

“I just… I thought one of us should make the call, you know?” His eyes scan the photo he still keeps deep in his drawer, away from prying eyes. “I don’t want things to be awkward, now that…”

He leaves the sentence hanging in mid air. 

“Now that what?”

Her confusion makes him grin and he struggles to stifle the sound of it, swallows the glee to match her puzzlement. 

“Well, now that you and Logan are getting together.” 

He says it like it’s the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. 

“What?” She chokes back. “Duncan, Logan and I aren’t…”

“Oh. Really?” He’s so sorry, so contrite, he has to bend at the waist to hold it in. “Because, after he was saying all that stuff about you and what you were doing together, I just thought…”

“He said what?” And Veronica plays her part to perfection. It’s like she’s been rehearsing with him. “What did Logan say about me?”

He’s quick to reassure her. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing, it’s just words, you know?” A sigh, long winded and overly put upon. “You know how Logan gets sometimes. Sorry to worry you, then.”

“Wait!” The suspicion in her voice makes his lips curl up. “Duncan, why are you calling me now? What’s changed?”

He counts out five long seconds, her breath loud in the shell of his ear. 

“I just worry about you, Veronica.”

And then he disconnects. 

His bedroom is quiet. His whole house is quiet. Sometimes he misses sound. Sometimes he misses being annoyed by the sudden blare of laughter from the room across the hall. Sometimes he feels as if the whole world is falling down around his ears and nobody is noticing. 

He dials the next number. 

“Duncan!”

She obviously has caller ID and his name prominently displayed. Just the sound of her voice sets his teeth on edge. 

“Hey Madison.” He sighs deeply. 

“Are you okay?” And everyone is playing their parts so well tonight, so deliciously on schedule. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing.” His tongue curls around the tips of his teeth. “Just that stuff with Logan and, well, you know.”

“No.” The fake sympathy in her voice is drowned out by the heavy greed that drips out of the phone in his hand. “What happened? Tell me _all_ about it.”

He can’t wait for school next week. 

***


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares are more common lately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** pg-13 (but there is language here).  
>  **Spoilers:** Pre-series, but some season one stuff.   
> **Warnings:** None, not really.   
> **Disclaimer:** Oh, they’re not mine. I just take them out of their boxes, play with them, muss there hair a bit, and put ‘em back when I’m done.

*~*~*~*  
 **…TO DREAM,**  
*~*~*~*

_Veronica sits perched on a stool, her back held ramrod straight and her hands clasping at her knees nervously. She tries to inch her skirt down, tries to cover the bare, knobbly skin without anyone else noticing. She can’t see anything but black. There are no walls and no floors and no limits, the whole thing makes her dizzy._

_“Hello Veronica.”_

_Her eyes widen expectantly and she looks into the darkness and blushes._

_“Hi!”_

_“Did you manage to get here okay?”_

_“It was a long flight.” She nods, winking into the nothingness and hamming it up. “Boy, are my arms tired!”_

_Laughter echoes and bounces inside her brain and she ducks her head in embarrassed acknowledgement to the acclaim._

_“Enough banter!” The voice claims with the surety of a million line read throughs. “It’s time to pick a door! Are you ready?”_

_She nods eagerly as her elbows squeeze in from excitement and she clamps her knees hard over her hands to keep them still. Her feet jiggle on the footrests._

_“Door number one!”_

_A light shines in the darkness and her eyes are drawn to it. There’s a healthy pinkish glow coming from the arch and inside it she can see four figures laughing and teasing each other. She recognizes them easily. Younger versions of herself, Lilly, Logan and Duncan._

_Her mouth waters._

_“Door number two!”_

_A second light clicks on and she leans her head to the left, trying to piece the puzzle together. It looks like her, but she’s older, she’s obviously happier, and she looks like she’s working at a job surrounded by people that respect her._

_Her hands inch up her legs to grip at the edges of her seat._

_“And, finally, door number three!”_

_A light flickers once, twice, fizzes out and then sputters back into life as she looks at a crowd of hostile, angry figures surrounding a lone girl, hunched over herself protectively. She can barely hear them, but she knows what they’re saying. They never stop._

_“Do you know which one you want, Veronica?”_

_“Yes.” She nods resolutely. “Door number one, please.”_

_The sounds stop, the lights and arches disappear and she’s surrounded by silence._

_“Um… please?”_

_Finally, the voice returns._

_“No.”_

_She frowns, confused._

_“But that’s the one I want…”_

_“You can’t have it.”_

_Snickers echo all around her._

_“But I want it!”_

_“Look.” The voice sighs. “Do you want to play or not? Just choose another door.”_

_“Fine.” She sets her teeth. “Door number two.”_

_A loud buzz sounds, deep and ridiculing, like a mouth blowing a big, fat raspberry._

_“But…!”_

_Her protest comes even before the deep voiced denial._

_“Are you going to play properly or not, Veronica?”_

_“But I chose!” She insists. “I chose the first and then the second door! Why are there three if I can’t have them?”_

_“Time is running out, Veronica.”_

_“But I don’t want it.” Her foot stamps futilely on the footrest and she feels tears pricking her eyes. “I don’t want the third one.”_

_Cheers and encouragement sound from all sides, voices prompting her to do what she really doesn’t want to. The announcer begins an annoying tick tock, loud and insisted, growing to almost a shout._

_“Please.” She begs instead. “Can’t I just go home?”_

_“Tick tock!”_

_The chair begins spinning, around and around, timed to the sneer of the announcer’s voice, she’s going to fall, she can feel it. Her hands cling for safety and she searches desperately for a point, some light in the distance that might help her._

_Her whimpers go unheeded._

_“Tick Tock, Veronica!”_

_“Okay!” She gasps, her stomach rolling and threatening to revolt. “Okay, number three.”_

_There are tears streaming down her face when the room stills, silence returns and the buzz of cheap hydrogen neon sounds as the third arch reappears._

_Quietly, to the point where she has to strain to be sure she can hear anything at all, footsteps begin off to her left. Step, pause, step, pause, Veronica squints, trying to discern any kind of shape in the shadows. Her heart beats a steady rhythm._

_Then she sees him walking towards her._

_“Logan!” It comes out like relief. “I was so worried.”_

_He smiles at her and the sincerity in his face makes her relax, makes her settle easier on the chair. She doesn’t look past him, doesn’t care about the figures still glowing in the forgotten arch._

_“You didn’t think I’d miss this, did you?”_

_Her teeth edge out to bite her lip as she shakes her head._

_“They’re laughing at me.”_

_He steps up close to the stool and shakes his head at her, almost as if he’s disappointed and she tries to shake it off, tries to ignore the unease building inside as she lets him reach up and touch the top of her head, soft and gentle fingers in her hair._

_“Of course they are, why wouldn’t they?”_

_She blinks._

_“Wait… Logan, what?”_

_He’s standing close, one hand in her hair and the other resting by the side of her legs. She can feel him next to her, a warm bulk sharing heat, he feels like support. She wants to reach out and grab hold of him, use him to pull herself up and out of this chair, away from the confusion._

_“I said.” He repeats the words slowly, carefully, and keeps running his hand through her hair. “Why wouldn’t they laugh, you stupid little bitch?”_

_“Logan!”_

_She’s too stunned to react for a second, but then movement comes back to her and she grabs his wrist, tries to pull his hand away from her face, and tries to push him further back._

_He doesn’t relent._

_There’s no pressure, his energy is nonexistent, but his frame is immovable, like she’s pushing against steel._

_“Hey, stop it.” The words slip out against clenched teeth as she struggles against him. “Let me go!”_

_Logan smiles and cups her cheek, his thumb sliding gently against the flesh of her bottom lip as his other hand clamps down softly, brutally, on the side of her thigh._

_“What did you think was going to happen? You’re nothing but a cheap trashy whore, like your drunken mother.”_

_Her fingernails try to gouge at his arms, his hands, trying to find something to stop the relentless, inescapable pressure, but they slide off. Her eyes clamp shut and she shakes her head back and forth as she tries to kick out at him._

_“No!” It’s a terror that screams up her spine as she feels herself being pushed back. “Stop it! No!”_

_Her body tries to overcorrect, tries to stay on the flimsy stool, but Logan just smiles as he forces her backwards, and she finds herself laying flat on a surface that wasn’t there moments ago._

_“Logan, let me go!”_

_“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He asks, concern crinkling his brow as his fingers force her knees apart. “I thought you’d be thrilled.”_

_She’s crying, tears streaming out of the corners of her eyes, her arms and legs whipping out at him, hitting and scratching, and she’s getting no response, no reaction. He doesn’t even blink. Not once. Just presses closer. It’s like she’s trying to fight a wall of water._

_“Smile, Veronica, this is exactly what you deserve. Isn’t it?”_

_The strap of her dress tears easily in his hand and she looks down, horrified to see that it’s white._

_“Stop!” Her head falls to the side and she stretches her neck, tries to see the figures shadowed in the half-light. “Help me!”_

_“You’re just making this harder on yourself, Veronica.” Logan hushes at her as his fingers trail up her thigh. “Stop yelling so much.”_

_“Yeah, good luck on that.” Veronica snaps her head to the other side to see Duncan standing next to them, watching them with disinterest as he casually eats a peach, the juice dripping down his wrist and chin. “She never stops.”_

_“Duncan!” She tries to reach out for help, but Logan captures her hand and brings it in to kiss the tips of her fingers. “Help me!”_

_Duncan leans his head to the left._

_“You should cover her mouth, man, that might help.”_

_And then he licks a trail of peach juice from inside his wrist as the angle of his arm shows her a half rotten peach stone crawling with shiny black beetles inside the glistening fruit._

_“Right.” Logan shrugs, smiling apologetically. “I totally forgot.”_

_“No.” She cries it, awfully, helplessly, measly, feebly, too loud in her ears. “No, please, no.”_

_Logan leans in to kiss her quiet._

***

“Stop!” Her throat screams the words, hoarse and uncompromising. “Don’t! Please!”

Hands grab at her wrists, trying to hold her back. 

“Veronica! It’s me!” She can’t stop struggling as her arms are pinned in close to her chest. “Veronica, wake up!”

The voice inches into her awareness and she forces herself still, forces herself to breathe through the harsh, rasping pants. Everything starts to bleed into focus, the sheets of her bed twisted around her legs, the whine of Backup on the floor, the woodsy warm smell of her dad’s aftershave after it’s been on his skin all day, his arms around her, his voice humming low in his throat as he coos at her.  
She can’t stop shaking. 

“It’s okay.” He rests his chin on the top of her head and all she can offer in return is a whimper as she relaxes into the way he rocks her back and forth. “Veronica, it’s okay. It was just a dream.”

He sounds tired as he says it, a little bit worn down and a lot scared. 

Veronica hesitates; luxuriating in the feel of relative safety, the radical shift from horrifying to familiar, before sniffling and pulling back. She can already feel the fear of the dream morphing into embarrassment. The stone cold chill turning into the flush of reality. 

“Yeah.” Her fingers squeeze his arms for a second, a reassurance. “I think I’m good now. Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s all part of the dad job, don’t you worry.” He gives an unconvincing smile as he pats her shoulder, one last miniscule check, a touch to make sure she’s okay, and then sits back with a furrow in the middle of his brow. “Sounded like a pretty bad dream, you want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head, not meeting his eyes. 

“Just a few things my subconscious felt like battering me with, I guess…” Her voice trails off into a frown as she looks down at their hands on top of the cover. “Oh my god, tell me I didn’t do that?”

His fingers curl, delineating the tendons underneath his skin and he’s too slow in pulling his right hand away, in slipping it behind him. There are deep gouges; three long stretches of skin and blood that look fresh. 

“It’s fine.” He insists with a rushed breath of air. “Not the first, not the last, I’m sure. No one said fatherhood wasn’t hazardous.”

She’s almost too guilty to meet his eyes, but she does, and she sees the guilt mirrored. 

Nightmares are more common lately. 

When he’s finally convinced of her sanity, rightly or wrongly, he goes back to his room and leaves her door slightly ajar. She lies on her back, letting her head fall to the right so she can see Backup’s face peering at her over the side of mattress. His eyes glitter in the dark. 

He looks as worried as her dad. 

“Okay, brain.” Veronica sighs and interlaces her fingers on top of the covers, resting the weight in the middle of her chest bone as she looks up at the ceiling. “What the hell are you trying to say?”

Sometimes it’s just easier to figure it out than to ignore the dreams that won’t go away otherwise. That’s one of the harder lessons she’s learned in six months time. 

***

Veronica plugs the cable into her computer and waits for the hardware to be recognized. The little beep sounds, followed by the message, and she clicks on it, opens up the window full of photos from her camera. Her eyes scan the dozens of shots from the day before. 

Backup nudges against her shin and she reaches down idly to scratch his ears. 

Her aim is a little off and she puts it down to her concentration being split in two. Surveillance isn’t usually a spectator sport and she’s not used to having a passenger, especially one with nervous ticks and a perpetually moving mouth. 

Logan just can’t sit still, if she didn’t know it before, she certainly knows it now. 

The photos are fairly standard two shots, man talking to man: they don’t need to be studio quality. As long as the faces are identifiable and the money changing hands is visible, then they’ll get paid. Her eyes can’t help nitpicking each one, finding fault with the line up and the lens and the settings used. 

Her mind studiously weighs the merits of one against the other until she’s almost satisfied she has a portfolio worth showing the client. 

Photo number twenty-six keeps drawing her eye. It’s not her mark. She’d been focused across the street, snapping the men as they talked, and all she could hear was Logan. Logan’s voice and Logan’s feet tapping on the leather and Logan’s fingers drumming a pattern into the side of her window until she could barely stand it. 

So she’d turned in her seat and snapped him instead. 

The result is somewhat surprising. 

The sun is behind him, creating him as a darker silhouette, and his face is relaxed, almost happy. His eyes are widened slightly, but not the larger surprised look he’d gotten after the snick had gone off and she’d told him to shut up for once and all before she threw him out of the car. In the photo, he looks as if he’s having the time of his life tormenting her. 

Not viciously, but like a kid who isn’t getting enough attention. A pouty little four year old whining _look at meeeeeeeeeeeeeee_. The look on his face is about success, that one instant of her turning around to face him. 

She hesitates, the pointer hovering over the ‘print photo’ button. 

Duncan hasn’t talked to her in over six months. Not since before Lilly died. He cut her out of his life quickly and simply and seemingly painlessly, leaving no messy afterthoughts. He doesn’t look at her in the halls, he doesn’t meet her eyes, and he doesn’t stop his friends from saying or doing what they do. 

He hasn’t spoken a word to her, but she saw him fighting Logan and she’s not so dense that she doesn’t know why. The fact that he waited until Logan was in her life before making that first step hasn’t escaped her notice either, especially with the fact that he only called to warn her about Logan. 

She doesn’t know what game he’s playing, what game either of them is playing; she just knows she doesn’t want to be part of it anymore. 

Her phone trills behind her and she twists her back, straining her neck to look at the display. 

Logan. 

The letters imprint themselves into her brain. She’d only just added his name into her phone. A name she wouldn’t have ever thought would be back in there, let alone the first one returned. It’s not a very crowded list anymore, it’s a lonely little club in fact; those people she calls and receives calls from regularly. 

Her fingers press answer before her mind makes its decision. 

“Hi.”

“Hey.” His voice smiles into her ear. “Watcha doin’?”

“Trying to salvage some decent shots from yesterday.” It’s an honest answer, simple and laid bare. “How about you? Aren’t you missing some great, grand party of debauchery somewhere? It’s Saturday night, after all.”

He gives a low, dismissive whistle. 

“Nah, not me. I’ve got absolutely nothing better to do right now than talk to you.” And she can practically see the self satisfied grin over the phone. “Aren’t you lucky?”

She tries not to frown, because she knows he’ll hear it. 

“What did you say to Duncan? About me?”

There’s a sound on the other end that’s not quite silence, but pretty close to it, the gathering of thoughts, of possibilities, the scrambling of what to say. 

“Look, Logan, he called me, okay? I just… I just want to know.” The pointer begins to waver on the screen. “I know what he said, I want to know your side of it. This is me asking you for the truth, so don’t waste it.”

She listens to him breathe in. 

“I…” There’s hesitation in his voice and she can’t tell if it’s from remorse or reluctance to give up the truce they’ve got going. Eventually, he lets it out in one long breath. “I might have given him the impression that you and I… well, you know.”

Her hand leaves the mouse altogether. 

“Why?” It’s not like she didn’t already know, she’d figured out that much on her own, but hearing the words straight from his mouth is still hard. “Why would you do that? God, Logan, the whole school already thinks I get on my knees for the football team during half time! You had to add yourself to that list? Why would you do that?”

She’s fast losing control and this isn’t how she wanted the conversation to go. 

“It wasn’t like that.” He breathes it into her ear, rapidly and with enough force to get her listen. “Veronica, please, it wasn’t like…”

“Then what? Logan?”

“He was being a dick!” The frustration in his voice surprises her as much as, if not more so than, the language. “We got into a fight, ok? That’s all we ever seem to do lately, fight. He was going nuts and I had to say something to shut him the hell up, that’s the first thing that came to my head, ok? It was stupid, I know it, I’m sorry.”

It’s unfair at this point, she knows it, but she already has her suspicions and she wants to know, wants to push this whole new truth thing to its edges to see if it breaks. 

“What was the fight about?”

He’s quite for several seconds. 

“You.” It doesn’t sound as if he’s particularly proud of it, either. “We were fighting about you.”

Her fingers clench in annoyance. 

“What specifically about me?”

“Look, Veronica, are you sure you want to…?”

She looks at the computer screen, at the one and only photo she has of Logan that doesn’t have either Lilly or Duncan in it, that isn’t tainted with months of bad memories and the taste of betrayal. 

“Yes. Just tell me.”

“He doesn’t want me to do this, this whole being nice to you thing, he keeps warning me away from you.”

Veronica honestly doesn’t know what she was expecting. It’s not exactly the greatest surprise, but the way he says it cuts deep and she can’t really get her mind around it. 

“Why?” It comes out like a gasp. “Why would he do that? Why does he even care now?”

“I don’t know.” 

Logan sounds as tired as she feels. 

“He dumped _me_ , Logan! He walked away from me! And he hasn’t cared for a second…” She stops to breathe, to take in messy lungfuls of air. “I mean, with everything else that’s happened to me, why does he care about this?”

“I know, I know.” But the hushing of his voice makes it sound more like he doesn’t. “I think… I think because he’s worried this could be serious.”

That stops her. 

It hasn’t answered any one of her questions, not really, she still doesn’t know about the why, but little pieces of information click together and start to make a little more sense. 

“So.” She says simply. “What are your plans for the rest of the evening?”

He sighs and she thinks she hears relief. 

“Talking to you, what else is there? Hey, what’s that sound?”

“Nothing.” She says it with a grin, a little tease. “Just the printer.”

***  
***

He doesn’t waste time with formal introductions at the door. 

Logan’s sober this time and he knows this house as well as he knows his own. 

“Remember the time we were thirteen and you decided to runaway?” 

“Jesus.” Duncan throws the controller down on the couch and gives Logan a combination confused and disgusted look. “Hello to you, too, Logan.”

“Hey buddy.” 

He sits down on the couch, sprawled carelessly. 

“It didn’t occur to you I could be busy?”

Logan gestures to the empty room, the brightly blinking pause screen on the game, Duncan on the other end of the couch. 

“I duly note the absence of a sock of any kind, henceforth, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Carry on.” It’s a smug grin as he notices the hardness of Duncan’s expression melting just a little. “So, do you?”

Annoyance flickers, before Duncan’s face settles on thoughtful. 

“Yeah.”

It’s an odd sort of feeling, the sparks of violence that run underneath the current of all their interaction lately combined with the ease and comfort of being around old friends, and the soft sort of hazy recollections of an era long gone. 

“You were so fed up.” They both chuckle and Logan sees a light of embarrassment flush over his friend’s face. “Something Lil had done. I can’t remember.”

“Got caught making out with the gardener.” Duncan supplies, with just a little catch in his throat. “She was fourteen. He was twenty-five. Celeste cancelled any and all fun for the rest of the summer.”

It’s a reluctant memory and Logan pushes it, needles it just a bit more. 

“Yeah. You couldn’t go to Dick’s pool party. That’s right.” He sighs, just this side of dramatic, an age-old agreement of the severity of cruel mothers. “You were so adamant that we get out of here. Packed some clothes, packed a lunch, made the driver take the limo.”

A deeper chuckle bursts out of Duncan’s throat. 

“We did it hard.”

Logan eyes him carefully. 

There’s a reason that they don’t spend a lot of time rehashing old memories, that Logan doesn’t push himself into a stupor of non-ending ‘wasn’t it better when…?’ stories. A reason that half their lives are banished into the recesses, never to be brought up again. 

“The whole reason you wanted to go was Lilly and she ended up coming with.”

The humor drains slightly from Duncan’s eyes. 

“She forced her way in, demanded we do it her way or no way.”

And they’ve reached the end of the unmentionable, the point where they don’t verbalize their history. Logan watches like a hawk as he continues the shared narrative. 

“Both of them came. Lilly dragged Veronica all the way.”

It’s like the entire room flinches. 

“Both the girls.” Duncan echoes softly and then shakes his head as if to dislodge the thought. “We nearly made it as far as Nevada.”

“Hey.” Logan pipes up, affronted. “We made it past that line, thank you very much. God, where were we even going?”

“New York.” It’s quiet and sad and slightly wistful. “We were going to New York. The long way, apparently.”

“Your mom was so pissed when they finally caught up.” Logan continues, deliberately not saying anything about Papa Echolls. “If it wasn’t for Jake, I think you and Lil would still be locked in your rooms.”

Duncan nods and they’re both quiet. 

“Veronica cried.” Logan throws the words out there, pushes them into the silence, jarring them into Duncan’s conscious. “She didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to leave home. Lilly practically tied her to the seat.”

There’s an instant when Duncan’s face screws up, a slight hint towards a protest, a thousand different negations and alibis, but Logan doesn’t care. He’s beyond caring at this point and his voice loses the soft hues of memory lane and takes on a harder, more forceful edge. 

“Look, I don’t care what your problem with me is, but leave Veronica out of it, okay?”

With a shrug, Duncan looks at the screen, his hands hovering over the frozen controls. 

“Considering my only problem with you is Veronica, that’s going to make it difficult.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Logan scoots up, sitting on the arm of the sofa, his hands digging into the cushion. “Why can’t you just leave her alone?”

Duncan’s eyes flash. 

“Why can’t you?” It’s a challenge Logan refuses to back down from and Duncan sighs. “Just let it go. Things were better when you didn’t care. Things were so much better…”

Logan jumps up. 

“No, they weren’t better!” It’s frustration boiling up. “They weren’t better at all. How can you not see that? They weren’t better, they were just easier for you.”

“Logan…”

But he’s too far past listening anymore.

“Stay the hell away from her, Duncan. Just leave her alone for once in your life!”

Just before he stalks out of the room, he sees a slight twisting, an answering curve of amusement in the corner of Duncan’s lips. And Logan realizes with a jolt that he’s just echoing the slightly rabid ranting of Duncan. He’s becoming what he’s fighting. 

And he thinks it makes him despise Duncan a little bit more. 

***

He’s playing a dangerous game. 

That’s the thought that comes to him when he steps through the door. It’s amusing, actually, because anyone and everyone would say that all his games are dangerous, but this is hovering on the edge of self-destructive. 

The hallway is narrow and he trails the very tips of his fingers along the wall towards the stairs. It’s surprisingly neat and empty. Although, the only real experience he’s had with the Mars Investigations office building is throwing eggs at the logo on the door and second floor windows before driving away, so he’s not exactly sure what he was expecting. 

It takes Veronica several seconds to look up when he enters the main office and she blinks in surprise for another second before she smiles. There’s a pen in her hand and it hovers inches above an open file, papers spread out like a fan in front of her. 

Logan’s fairly sure he prefers this greeting to the one he got an hour ago. 

“So this is the Batcave?”

She nods, faux serious. 

“The one and only. What are you doing here?” Her eyebrows knit together and she puts on an expression he thinks is supposed to be stern, but falls somewhere along the line of adorable. “We’re closed on Sundays.”

He shrugs, casual and unconcerned, flourishing his arm in towards himself and then out to her. 

“Well, I thought, possibly, that if someone had absolutely nothing to do and plenty of time to do it in, they could come take a friend out to lunch.”

The way her eyes widen and her mouth pauses, as if giving her brain a moment to catch up with the idea, is a little too close to rejection for his tastes. 

“Logan.” It comes out like a sigh. “I told you…”

“As friends.” At this point, he’s sounding desperate, but he can see her watching him with the interested eye of someone making a decision. “Really, I mean it… friends.”

Then he gives a goofy smile and she has to stifle the answering one that lights up her face. 

It’s worth making himself a fool to get reactions like that. 

“Well, you’re going to have to wait.” She seems to come to her decision fairly quickly. “Because I still have lots of things to do here. Boring things, filing, faxing, note taking, incredibly yawn worthy stuff.”

Logan can’t help but smile as he makes himself comfortable on the small sofa that lines the wall. 

“I’ve got all afternoon and I’m not going anywhere. Bore away, my friend.”

She tries to hide the smile by looking down at her desk, but he sees it. 

Forty minutes later, Logan is bored. 

He’s studied the moving patterns of color that the stained glass shoots through the room, compared the different shades of red and yellow and orange, and has come to the conclusion that he likes the prism that comes from the third pane from the left, several rows up. 

It shines a rosy light red across the back of Veronica’s neck, making her skin glow in the heat and her fingernails idly scratch at the soft hairs curling there as she reads.

There are only so many minutes a person can study their own fingernails, readjust the position of their legs, read the posters on the wall, hell, there really isn’t even much saving grace in playing a hot game of snake on his cell, because the beeping made her glare up at him from the files on her desk. 

The damned files that don’t seem to be lessening at all. 

He stands up, stretching the creaking muscles in his legs and approaching her desk under the guise of examining the posters on the wall more closely. She doesn’t look up at him, but he can tell she’s watching him anyway, can feel her attention as he sidesteps her completely to glance down out of the windows. 

The street below looks gray and empty, deserted on a Sunday. 

When he does turn to look at her, she’s back to focusing on the file open on her desk. He sees the photos spread out in front of her, the same ones they took the other day, and he leans in over her shoulder without thinking. 

“Exactly what do they prove, anyway?”

He’s fairly sure he asked this the other day, but he can’t remember. 

“That this guy is taking money from a competitor to sell trade secrets, undercutting sale prices and driving down profits.”

She says it without expression, as if she’s explaining the equation of a math problem. Simple, easy, structured. 

“Wow.” He gives a low whistle. “The seamy underbelly of Neptune rears its ugly head.”

Her shoulders shake and he can feel it reverberate all the way through his chest, he’s not even touching her. She turns her face to look at him a little and makes her voice deep and husky.

“Welcome to the cutthroat world of the fruit markets, my friend.”

It steals his breath. He thinks he would surround himself in the dangers of papaya and kiwis if it kept her like this. He knows he’s playing a dangerous game, walking the tight rope between Duncan and her, playing villain to one and hero to the other, but he just doesn’t care. 

Logan angles his face down further, closer to hers, and she suddenly seems to sense exactly how close they are, that a few inches more and they’ll actually be kissing. Her face tightens and the amusement falls from her eyes. 

“Your hair’s getting longer.” It’s the only thing his brain can think to blurt out and, suddenly, he thinks his brain might hold a secret grudge against him and want him to suffer. “It’s almost to your chin.”

“Logan…”

She drawls the name out in a long-suffering sigh. 

“I like it.”

But she’s already scooting her chair back, forcing him to step away, pushing him back to a safer distance as she stands up quickly, the photos on the desk being gathered in a rush, shoved into a pile and all but thrown back into the manila folder. 

“Are you hungry?” It’s rushed and forced and her voice shakes almost as much as the hand that forces the folder into the file cabinet. “Where were you thinking of going?”

He’s back to looking down at the street through the window with his hands in his pockets and shrugs. 

“Your choice.”

A long, awkward silence follows and he spends it cursing himself and his idiocy. 

“Knock, knock!” Logan turns in time to see a greasy man ooze through the door swinging a briefcase. “Miss Mars! What a surprise.”

Instead of throwing him out, Veronica merely smiles and Logan’s hackles rise a little. 

“We’re closed, Cliff. You know my dad doesn’t work Sundays.”

The man slicks himself into the chair opposite Veronica and snaps open his briefcase.

“Oh, but I do. And, apparently, so do you. You know what they say, no rest for the wicked.” With a wink, Cliff produces a handful of papers and spreads them out in front of her. “So I thought I’d come see what ‘your dad’ can do with this.”

Logan shuffles his feet and clears his throat. Cliff barely spares him a glance. 

“Am I interrupting something?”

He watches Veronica carefully, the overly cheerful smile and little dismissive laugh she gives, the way she barely glances back at him before turning to the man leaving grease marks all over the chair. 

“Nope. Not at all, Logan’s cool.” Her eyes struggle not to inhale the pages in front of her. “So, what’ve you got?”

“Well.” There’s something vaguely familiar about the man as he leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and resting them on the small pouch of his stomach. “Seems my client, Mr. Jones, was in an industrial accident last year, mangled his right hand something fierce. Thing’s useless from the wrist down. Now his employer is refusing to pay any further damages owed and is actually suing for recompense for the medical bills already paid by them for my client.”

Veronica whistles. 

“Why now?”

Cliff makes air quotes in the air, not bothering to hide the sarcasm. 

“Apparently, they managed to get film footage of him using his right hand. They claim he’s a fraud.”

There’s something altogether hypnotic about the way Veronica mimes shock, her face lights up and she’s relaxed, her whole body loose in the movement of clutching her hands to her chest. This is a side of her he doesn’t see very often anymore, playful and teasing and well in control. 

“No, Cliff, not you. Please tell me it’s not true? Shonky clients? What is the world coming to?”

For his part, Cliff chuckles in response and Logan’s mouth tightens at the man’s comfort with the game. 

“Normally, I’d agree with you.” The meeting is officially ended when Cliff signals his acquiescence to the teasing and then stands up. “But this guy? He’s one of the good ones, Vee. Tell your dad I’d owe him one.”

Another wink and Logan’s fairly sure that all three occupants in the room have deciphered his ingenious coding system. 

“Why, Mr. McCormick.” And Veronica pretends to blush as she adopts a southern drawl. “Keep this up and Mr. Mars will start to think you have a crush on him.”

The name slides into Logan’s brain with a clear sharpness, a jig saw piece clicking into place, and he knows exactly where he’s seen this man before, the news reports and broadcasts, the name in all the papers. 

“Work some Mars magic.” Yet another goddamn wink and Logan feels his jaw clench. “And I’ll send him a Valentine.”

Then the man slithers out the door, taking his briefcase with him, and Logan practically spits after him, before turning to Veronica with a hiss. 

“That’s Cliff McCormick.”

Veronica raises her eyebrows and nods carefully, her fingers sliding underneath the papers and film print outs she’s just been given. 

“I had noticed.”

“That’s…” It’s a bubble of vicious anger sliding into his throat. “… that’s Abel Koontz’ lawyer.”

Shuffling papers has never quite seemed like an angry activity before, but Veronica makes it one. Her sudden brittleness is painfully obvious and Logan frowns as he turns to her fully. 

“What do you know about him? Really? He could be trying to…”

“Don’t.”

The word comes out hard and forceful, enough for him to notice. 

“But…”

“Logan.” This time, when she looks up, all the softness and the ease that he’d been enjoying in her all day, all weekend, it’s all gone. She’s sharp and angry and bitter as she stands and he feels as if he’s just taken twenty steps backwards. “That man is my friend, one of very few my father and I still have. Think carefully before you say anything else.”

There’s a challenge in there, he knows it, and he’s forced to make a split decision. 

It’s not an easy one. Abel Koontz killed Lilly, his girlfriend, Veronica’s best friend; he killed her, admitted to it and is now in prison. The sleaze that represents him in a court of law is nothing but slime to Logan. Anyone who would take the side of a confessed killer, especially the one that _killed Lilly, for fuck’s sake_ , is barely worth being allowed to breathe the same air as everyone else, let alone to be trusted. 

“I don’t trust him.” As Veronica’s mouth falls open, he hurries to continue, holding up his hand to stop the tirade. “But you do. So I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Slowly, very slowly, Veronica sits down again, knees giving out so that she falls into the chair absently. 

“I get what you’re trying to do at school, I do.” She looks down at the desk, at her hands planted firmly with their fingers spread. She doesn’t look up at him. “People there treat me like crap, like a slut, like I’m not even human sometimes. You used to be a big part of that, but you’re changing, and you’re trying to change them, and I appreciate it.”

There’s a but following the slow, careful words, her precise enunciation, he can feel it, even as he watches her reach down into a drawer next to her legs. 

“But that doesn’t mean you can come charging in here accusing people left and right, just because you think you’re on some big crusade.” She still doesn’t look up at him as she lays a piece of cardboard flat on the desk. It’s red and gaudy and her fingers trace the pattern on the top. “Do you know what this is?”

Logan wonders if it’s a trick question. 

“It’s a Christmas card.”

She chokes on a bitter laugh. 

“It’s the only Christmas card dad and I got this year. And it was from Cliff.” Then she does look up and her eyes are sad. “He stuck by us when no one else did, not even my own mother. So, yeah, I trust that man more than I do you, right now.”

He doesn’t have an answer for her that doesn’t sound trite and already repeated a million times over. 

***

They walk down the street in a silence that is not totally comfortable. 

Logan counts their steps, looking down at their feet and watching the way her heels strike the pavement first, the arch of her foot slamming down after it. She even walks angry. He blinks and she disappears from the side of his shoulder. He has to double back, only belatedly thinking to look inside storefronts to see her standing at the counter. 

Her spine wrinkles when he lines up behind her. 

“I guess noodles it is, then.”

“Yeah.” She doesn’t turn around. “They smelled nice.”

He wants to apologize, to find the right words to take them back an hour; instead he looks up and orders beef and vegetables with enough chilli to make the eating hurt. 

They walk several blocks, carrying twin steaming white boxes with chopsticks, to a park. Without really speaking, they both head towards the picnic tables near the swings. She sits on the bench and he climbs up to sit on the table, facing her. 

The sun shines down on the back of his neck, it’s not hot enough to burn, not yet, but it’s definitely making its presence felt. 

“Hey.” 

Logan taps the toe of his boot into the side of her thigh, a gentle nudge after several minutes of quiet. 

Veronica looks up, a mixture of confused and slightly annoyed. 

“What’s a nice girl like you doing holed up in an office on a Sunday, anyway?”

She smiles a little, her face relaxing as she looks up at him, the corners of her eyes crinkle. 

“And what’s a degenerate youth like yourself doing visiting nice offices on a Sunday, anyway?”

“Oh.” He feigns hurt as he clutches his chest with his right hand. “Ouch.”

“Seriously.” Her posture shifts, changes slightly, and she’s angled herself to face him more. “Don’t you have a million other things to do? More important people to do it with?”

Logan shovels a particularly large strip of beef into his mouth to avoid the question, but he can tell by the pointed smile she gives, patiently waiting him out with expectant eyes, that’s she’s not easily fooled or deterred. 

“No.” He breathes it quick and harsh against the burn of spice in his throat. “I don’t think I’m invited to the yacht club anymore.”

She nods, as if she was expecting the answer, as if it’s no big surprise. 

“Get used to it.” The little shrug she gives is both careless and a little cruel. He thinks he deserves both. “It’s only going to get worse.”

There’s a little switch inside his brain that refuses to click over. He knows it’s there, he can see her watching for it, but he still puffs his chest out anyway, still swaggers his upper body. 

“Stick with me, kid. I’ll see ya right.”

The skin in the middle of her nose wrinkles up and he’s fairly sure that’s a critique against his manly macho affectation. Underneath, however, just below the surface of the teasing glint in her eyes, he can read the guilt. A little sparkle of warning, as if she’s trying to give him an out before it’s too late. 

“Seriously.” So he stops her before she can go further down that road. “They’re not going to do anything against me.”

Her eyes look almost saddened at his surety and he can recognize pity when he sees it, it makes his hackles rise, little hairs in the back of his neck that stand up. 

“You didn’t hear?” Her voice is soft and a little hesitant. “They’re already talking. Saying stuff about us.”

That switch is both stubborn and resistant to the pressure being forced upon it. 

“Like what?” Maybe he’s being deliberately dense, but he can’t really wrap his brain around it. “Who’s saying what?”

Veronica rolls her eyes and deposits her half empty carton on the table top, her hands sliding down the box and over the wood, falling back into her lap. 

“What do you think? Hell, what would you have said a month ago if some guy suddenly started hanging around me, starting fights with people in my name?”

She doesn’t say anything else and she doesn’t really need to. He knows. He knows exactly what he would have said and how, knows the taunts and rumors, the vicious ugly lies that start off small but grow with every retelling. 

“How many times do I have to explain it to them?” He sighs dramatically. “You want me for more than my body.”

The steel of her glare lasts twenty seconds, maybe more, before the smile creeps through, a subtle movement towards ease in the tension. 

“You are incorrigible, Logan Echolls.”

It doesn’t sound entirely like an insult and he smiles in return. 

“Seriously, Veronica, what can they say? Nothing that hasn’t been said a thousand times before. We’ll show ‘em.”

He’s not exactly sure what they’re going to show anybody, but the instant she smiles, a genuine, happy smile, he knows he said the right thing. 

“Personally, I wasn’t worried about me.” Veronica stands with a flourish and then grins at him with a sparkle in her eye. “I’m used to it. But you? You’re so delicate.”

And with that, she pushes him sideways and Logan scrambles hard not to fall over the edge of the table. 

***

It’s a quiet walk back to the office, but it’s a lot more comfortable than earlier. 

He nudges his arm into hers once and she even manages to nudge back. 

The sudden blaring of an engine behind them makes Logan turn around. He’s a split second too late as a dark blur roars past them, too fast to really notice, but it’s not the car that stuns him. It’s the explosion of glass at their feet. 

Logan jumps away, pulling his ankles out of the blast zone, but Veronica barely flinches. She digs her chin down into her chest and turns her face away, shielding it from any shrapnel, but she doesn’t really move other than that. 

“What the hell…?”

He’s already taking steps down the road before her hand catches his arm. 

“Ignore it.” Her calmness irritates him slightly. “You can’t do anything now.”

“They threw glass at us!” The anger that bubbles up in him needs an outlet and he can’t believe she’s going to just let it go. “They fucking threw glass at us!”

Her eyebrows knit together. 

“Yeah. And? I told you to get used to it.” She must sense that he’s not going to let it go that easily. “Look, what are you going to do? Do you know them? No. They’re already gone. You’ll be yelling at an empty street.”

His arm shakes out of her grip and he can’t believe her passivity. 

“We could go to the cops, tell them…”

She laughs in his face, bitter and unamused. 

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause they’ll just jump up ready to track those people down.” Then she seems to catch herself, breathing her spite down into a more believable expression of disinterest. “They won’t do anything, Logan, just forget it.”

“But that’s their job.” His mother always said he was stubborn. “That’s what they’re paid to do.”

She gives a shrug, a seemingly careless gesture, but he thinks it means so much more as she just begins to walk, her steps headed firmly towards her father’s office. 

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” She says it harshly when he steps back into stride next to him. “Look, I’ve already said it before, but you won’t listen. If you want to spend so much time with me, get used to this.”

Her arm swings around them in a broad gesture. 

“Get used to the gossip, the isolation, the pranks. Get used to your car being violated on a regular basis. Get used to bottles and various foodstuffs thrown at you from moving vehicles. Welcome to the Mars legacy, you’re going to love it. Everyone hates you and nobody cares what happens. There’s no such thing as private property or peace.”

Her tirade ends in a strangled little gurgle. 

“Not even the local sheriff cares.”

“But…” Logan refuses to back down. “If we just told them…”

“Look.” She spins on him, her face red. “If Lamb can laugh in my face the day after I was raped, he’s not going to care about a stupid goddamned bottle, okay? Let it go, for fuck’s sake.”

A sparkle catches her eye. One last shard sticking to his sleeve. Her fingers pry it off, flicking it off with spite as she walks away. Logan can’t move, he just stands there watching the glass bounce several times, spinning over and over on the pavement until it comes to rest 

He really wants to hit something. 

***  
***

Nobody glances her way when she walks from her car to the school entry. Not even a general eye roll of scorn. It’s too deliberate, too obvious and it’s enough to make Veronica suspicious. Suspicion grows with every footstep she takes, because they might not be reacting to her, but she can sense that they’re following every movement she makes. 

Her belly curls in on itself and she breathes through her nostrils, keeping her head high. 

School will be over soon, barely three months to go, and then she can forget about each and every pair of expectant eyes for several more blissful months. That’s all she’s counting down to. Freedom and space and, possibly, peace. 

Until then, she hugs her books closer to her abdomen and hopes that Logan’s not too far away. 

Loud cheers erupt the second she steps through the door. Explosive and sudden, she stands frozen for a second as the sound of congratulations washes over her. There’s something completely wrong with the set up, the too crowded hallway, the laughing faces. 

“Mars!” 

Someone claps her on the shoulder and she jostles out of reach, taking a step towards her locker. 

“Oh, Veronica!” Someone else calls her name and, against her better judgment, she turns to the sound of it. “Veronica! I need some help… in the girls bathroom!”

And then the people in the background start crystallizing into focus. Couples grinding against each other in a parody of something quite obvious, bodies pretending to maul each other against lockers. She blushes and looks at the floor as she begins to hurry her step. 

“Hey.” A jock steps in front of her, older, maybe a senior, she doesn’t know his name. “You wanna help me out in the toilets? I got this real nasty problem.”

He gestures towards his crotch and Veronica pushes past him, jostling him out of the way with her shoulder as she all but runs through the crowd to her locker. Words jumble in her head, Logan’s name and hers, vulgar suggestions and the sound of fake orgasms all through the hall. 

“Oh!”

A loud crash makes her jump, coupled with the odd sound of plastic stretching. She sees Dick Casablancas bouncing against the row of lockers with a blow up doll, dressed in a mock up of a school uniform and a hideously shorn blonde wig. 

“Oh, Veronica! Oh, do me!”

Bounce. Squeak. Squeak. Bounce. Uproarious laughter. 

Her hand finds its way into the side pocket of her bag without her even noticing and, apparently, Dick hasn’t noticed either as he begins eagerly clawing at the doll’s clothes. Her fingers close around the handle of her pocketknife and she moves quickly, garroting the thing in it’s plastic, flesh colored neck. 

Air sizzles out of the doll almost as fast as blood drains out of Dick’s face. 

People boo behind her, obviously disappointed. 

“You even pretend to call my name while getting off again and I’ll do the same to your little…” She turns the blade and her eyes downward. “… namesake there. You got it?”

He swallows and nods. 

“Bitch.”

It’s a whispered curse behind her as she slams her locker and stalks away, but she doesn’t stop. It’s another day in Neptune and the only difference is that these taunts are at least based somewhere in fact. 

***

Two hours in and Veronica’s already tired of it. 

She rests her head on her folded arms on top of her desk, closing her eyes and ignoring the people around her to focus on the monotone of the teacher’s voice. Sometimes she thinks the school would self implode if she stopped coming. 

They wouldn’t know what to talk about and would probably end up walking the halls, blank faced and hollow eyed, zombi-fied with confusion at the lack of an easy target. 

She hasn’t seen Logan all day and she’s not sure whether she’s surprised, she hasn’t seen him since the day before, her little outburst on the street. 

It’s quite possible that he’s just stubborn enough to have resisted all her efforts to push him away, all the times she’d told him to back off, only to run the very moment she was starting to weaken and give into his silly idea of being friends again. 

Although, Logan being Logan, it’s also possible he’s either skipped the school day in favor of playing Halo, or he’s been holed up in the principal’s office for fighting. 

It’s really a tie between the three. 

A sharp sting echoes through her shin and she looks down to see a studded boot slide by. 

“Oh.” Simpers Madison on the way to her desk. “Sorry.”

Veronica shrugs and closes her eyes again as the snickers sound all around her, just quiet enough to be ignored from the front of the room. 

Second later, a rubber band sizzles into her ear, snapping harshly against the lobe. 

She rubs it and keeps her eyes closed. 

“Hey!” Cole’s voice shouts across the room, too loud now to be ignored. “Hey, check this out!”

Several people jump up from their chairs to crowd around the window. The halfhearted attempts of the teacher to bring them back to attention are no match for their snide laughter, the jibes and shuffling and pushing. 

More people get up to look. 

Veronica can, if she listens, hear the same thing occurring in classrooms next door. Chair legs scratching on the floor, people’s voices rising higher and higher, teachers shouting futilely. 

The loud, unmistakable sound of porn music starts blaring through the school from the car park. Laughter is soon joined by catcalls. She looks up to see the pitying face of the teacher, the one that says ‘I tried to stop it’. 

She wants to ignore it, she does, but she ends up edging closer to the window, only to see her own face blurred on a large screen mounted on a car being driven around the lot. The accompanying music and obviously dubbed moans of a bad actress are enough to tell her what it means. 

There’s a knock on the door, ignored by everyone but Veronica and the teacher. 

She looks up to see the apologetic eyes of Mr. Clemmons. 

“Veronica? Can I see you in my office?”

The walk down the hall is somber and embarrassing. She follows his crisp footfalls against the tiles with reluctant ones of her own, ignoring the catcalls that escape rooms and around corners. 

Somehow, she’s not too surprised to see Logan sitting outside the office, the side of his face swollen up. He doesn’t say anything and she merely sighs at him as he reaches out to take her book bag from her shoulder. 

At least that’s one weight gone. 

***

“Veronica.” Mr. Clemmons speaks gravely as he ushers her out of his office. “I don’t want you to see this as a punishment.”

She doesn’t respond. Just gives him a pointed look. 

“It’s just temporary.” He tries again, his voice set to the ‘soothe’ level of Vice Principaldom. “Until all this sorts itself out.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Her enthusiasm is obviously fake, a parody of her old pep squad days. “Because it’s going to be over any day now, I can feel it!”

He lays a hand on her shoulder. 

“Veronica.” It comes out like a sigh. “I didn’t want to do this, if it was up to me…”

But the words die out without being finished and she’s not sure if there’s really an answer to them, because it obviously isn’t up to him, and he obviously has no idea what to do otherwise. The disappointment in his eyes isn’t aimed at her; she knows it. 

“Yeah.” It’s a soft sort of capitulation. “I get it.”

Given the reprieve, he gives her shoulder a gentle, apologetic squeeze, then dashes back into his office to escape. 

“What?” Logan’s at her side in an instant. “What happened?”

Veronica sighs.

“I’m being segregated.” She says it blankly, emotionlessly. “Taking lessons with the integration class. Apparently, I pose too much of a distraction to daily class life.”

“Hey.” She feels his hand on the curve of her elbow. “It’s alright…”

“No.” Her body twists away from him with a vicious pull. “It’s not. They won, Logan, they got what they wanted. They’re driving me away.”

Something in her voice must scare him, because he looks a little taken aback by her words. 

“You’re not going? You can’t…”

A chuckle sounds deep in her throat, sounding a little like a sob. 

“And why would I stay here? Logan? Spending my day making special friends with Pete Corby’s boogers as he passes them on? What the hell am I going to learn there? I’m not exactly looking forward to AP Addition, how does one get extra credit in Coloring, anyway? Geez, I hope I can stay within the lines.”

She’s being cruel, she knows it, but she can’t help it. She needs to stop herself breaking down in the middle of the school hall where anyone can see. Where they can all see and then congratulate themselves on their success. 

So she snatches her bag back out of his hands and walks off, hurrying to empty her locker before the next bell. 

***

She’s not sure whether her dad is going to be so angry his face will turn colors, or he’ll be secretly delighted that his plan to take her out of Neptune High is finally something she might agree to. 

None of her courses would be compromised, Clemmons had promised her, she would still be given the same work as usual and graded to the same standard as her classmates. She would just never see said classmates. Her teachers would all be made available should she need to speak with them about any of the work. 

One thing she’s sure of, she’s not particularly eager to spend the afternoon in the little room off the side of the office, with her special teachers and her specially segregated study space. In the past two weeks, she’s taken more time off than in her entire scholastic history, but she just doesn’t seem to care.

Which is why, just after the lunch period begins, Veronica finds herself marching across the quad, her jaw clenched so hard she can barely spit. 

“Logan!” She finds him just exiting the main building with a lunch tray. He looks as if he’s searching for someone and she thinks maybe it’s her. “Where are they?”

He affects a confused expression, but she’s not fooled. 

“Where are what?”

Her hand thrusts out in mid air, hovering palm outward. 

“My car keys. What did you do with them?” He doesn’t answer and her impatience grows. “Look, I know you took them, only you had access to my bag. Now give them back.”

For a split second, it looks as if he’s going to disagree, then he sighs and blood rushes into his face. 

“Your car’s not here.” He admits. “I had it towed. I thought I could have it back by the end of the day, without you noticing.”

And she’s honestly not surprised as the bluster leaks out of her shoulders and she sags. 

“What happened?”

***  
***

Logan almost winces when they drive into Eddie’s Car Repair. 

He was hoping that the car would be close to finished when they got there, that he could just show her a bright, shiny new vehicle and then they could be on their way, but apparently it’s been a busy day. The black Le Baron sits at the edge of the yard, in full view, and Veronica gasps when she sees it. 

The front end is still hiked up off the ground, attached by a bulky chain to the tow truck, the wheels hanging uselessly in mid air. It’s the perfect angle to see the mangled grill in the front. Bright silver lines scratch across both sides, the doors heavily gouged with instruments. 

It’s the large, undeniable splash of bright yellow paint smeared across the bonnet and windscreen that draws the eye. 

It’s been a very bad day for her and most of it, he knows, is his fault. 

If he hadn’t opened his stupid mouth to Duncan over some stupid pissing contest, if he hadn’t implied that things had happened that hadn’t, then maybe it wouldn’t be this bad. She doesn’t say anything as she slowly approaches her car and he doesn’t tell her he’s been expelled again. 

Her hand shakes as she traces the bright splash, the sticky lumps of paint that are so thick they haven’t dried yet. 

A bitter laugh escapes her throat. 

“At least you know they went to a lot of trouble to match the colors.”

Logan bites down on the angry curses that want to spew out of his mouth. 

“Obnoxious yellow.” He says instead. “It’s not too hard to find.”

For his effort, she gives a little halfhearted laugh, but it doesn’t sound believable at all. 

“Hey.” A sharp yell makes them spin around to see a skinny man with a moustache walking towards them. His nametag identifies him as Eddie himself. “What do you kids want with that car?”

“It’s okay.” Logan holds out his right hand in a self-assured manner, the easy expectancy of knowing he’s going to get what he wants. “Logan Echolls. I’m paying for it. This is Veronica, it’s her car.”

The sound of his voice must be familiar from the earlier phone call, because the man immediately relaxes and begins eyeing the damage, giving his opinion in a low whistle. 

“What the hell happened?”

He doesn’t know what to say. 

“I hit Big Bird.” Veronica says with a straight face. “I couldn’t help it, that stupid muppet seriously got on my nerves. He’s so annoying.”

Eddie frowns, before mumbling under his breath and disappearing back into the realms of car machinery he’d come from. 

“Fuckin’ kids.”

They both dissolve into much needed giggles and Logan holds the passenger door of the Xterra open for her. 

***

He hears voices when he arrives home, walking carefully and quietly through the hall, hoping to slink up to his room without notice. They wash over him, slick and greasy and polished, and he’s really not in the mood to play happy families with his father or the people his father is trying to impress. 

He’d actually been hoping to play the distraught son card tonight, garnering sympathy for the injustices to Veronica in the school system, giving the Echolls name something to fight for in tight little social struggles that scream politics and good publicity. The adoring fans love nothing than to see their hero playing the role and what screams hero more than rescuing a damsel in distress?

But that’s as far as he’s willing to play the Hollywood angle. It’s not his idea of fun to smile and simper at the fake, plastic ass kissers and kissees that routinely badger his supposedly peaceful, private palatial home. He wonders if his father is doing the sucking or getting sucked tonight. 

“Logan?” Damn, his fingers curl up for a second before he forces the smile, just in time to see his father’s face peering at him. “Come and say hello to our guest.”

Suck away, Aaron, he thinks. 

He’s just about ready to play dutiful son when a face appears behind Aaron and all Logan can see is red. 

“No.” It’s a smug, smarmy grin. “Not tonight. But thanks.”

It’s instantaneous, the anger that floods his father’s eyes. 

“Logan.” The strain used to keep calm is thick in the air and Logan feels it slide up his spine. “Don’t be rude.”

“Sorry, papa.” He gives a little flourish with his hands, a dismissive gesture that might, in certain social circles, be taken as an incredibly rude gesture. “But I’ve had my fill of self important assholes today, I think one more will spoil me.”

All the color bleeds from Aaron’s face and Logan can see the struggle to keep calm in the tense roping of muscles down the man’s forearm. 

“Go to your room.” It’s a hiss of lethal promise. “And stay up there until I come get you, do you hear me?”

“Sure thing.” Logan nods cheerfully. “Catch ya later, Sheriff Lamb.”

He can’t help the whimper that escapes his throat when he turns to see his mother’s shocked and scared face watching from the kitchen, a highball glass clutched tightly in her hand, but he holds his head up high as he walks to the stairs. 

***


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surely one of them is going to be hurt by this and history suggests it’s going to be her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** pg-13 (but there is language here).  
>  **Summary:** What the hell happened in three hours?  
>  **Spoilers:** Pre-series, but some season one stuff.   
> **Warnings:** None, not really.   
> **Disclaimer:** Oh, they’re not mine. I just take them out of their boxes, play with them, muss there hair a bit, and put ‘em back when I’m done.

*~*~*~*  
 **… TO DREAM** , ch 4.  
*~*~*~*

Logan listens to the voices rise like heated smells through the cracks of the house, worming in under his door and through the walls so that he can hear every false cheery note of his father’s baritone, each laugh bubbling low in the man’s throat like a threat. 

It takes five minutes to locate the song on the Internet. 

Another five to download it. 

Ten minutes later, he lies down on his bed, hands cradled underneath his head, staring at the ceiling, his lips curved up into a bitter little smile as he listens to Rage Against the Machine tell Lamb exactly what he feels. 

He’s not sure what’s worse, thinking about the weeks just after Lilly’s death, the interviews and interrogations that they’d all gone through a second time for the new Sheriff, the way Logan had smiled as his father had loudly congratulated Lamb for finally taking the reins, the way he’d constantly rubbed the detail in Veronica’s face all these months. Or the way her face had paled as she’d told him what Lamb had done, that the new boy in town everyone had lauded and approved, had looked her in the eye and laughed at her after she’d been raped. 

Strange, how different the same shiny coin looks when you flip it over. All tarnished and cracked, with dirt and grime caked into the cracks.

“Logan?” He closes his eyes and ignores the thready thin voice of his mother, the sound of the door opening. “Logan, please, turn it down.”

He doesn’t answer, just lifts the remote and points it at the stereo, a count to three gives perfect timing and the words _Fuck da police_ skip louder down the stairs. He hopes it’s creating just the right atmosphere. 

“I swear.” She sounds upset, timid and afraid, and he tries not to hear it, tries to remember her as the happy, energetic woman the cameras see. “I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”

They’ve played this game too often for the roles to sit easy. 

His breath stays hitched inside his lungs as his body gives off the appearance of casual, laid back over the bed, but he’s as taut and tight as an elastic band stretched to breaking point. The room is crystallized inside his mind, the whole house coming into focus, he can tell where everyone is, he can follow their movements. 

Downstairs, his father laughs at a weak joke, the insincerity in his voice giving him away as he leads his guest towards the front door. Inside his room, his mother steps towards the bed, spurred forth by the knowledge that there is no point in fighting the inevitable. 

Logan lifts his chin and opens his mouth without opening his eyes. 

Two small tablets are pushed between his lips and he takes them without argument. 

“Why do you do it?” It’s a rhetorical question as the lip of a glass touches his mouth; she knows he won’t stop fighting, just like he knows she’ll never start. “Why don’t you ever back down?”

His nostrils twitch with the acrid scent of scotch fumes and he swallows that too. 

Hesitant fingers run through his hair and the sound of the front door clicking echoes through the entire house. 

The countdown begins. 

***  
***

“You look happy.”

Veronica smiles as she looks up from the television set, Backup curled into her side on the sofa and popcorn half eaten in a bowl on the other, her dad looks confused as he walks through the door. She can feel the strange glow of satisfaction on her cheeks. 

“Maybe.”

He quirks his head to the left. 

“I wasn’t entirely expecting that.” He sets his briefcase down on the kitchen bench gently, carefully, as if trying not to spook an animal. “Given the phone call I got earlier.”

She’s honestly confused for a second as she looks at him, puzzled by the concern in his expression and voice, and then she remembers the first half of her day. 

“Oh, that.” Her hand makes a dismissive gesture in the air. “I’m over it. Bygones. I don’t like my classmates anyway, they’re holding me back.”

Keith frowns further, his sharp eyes scanning her intensely. She knows he’s looking for cracks, for the inevitable signs of depression and anger and protest that lurk under the surface. She also knows he’s going to be sorely disappointed tonight. 

“I don’t understand.” Carefully, gingerly, he sits down in the armchair at right angles to her. “My stubborn, bull headed daughter who has refused to change schools on the basis of not being run out is now blasé about the fact she’s been removed from all her classes until further notice.”

“I had a good afternoon.” It’s almost confusing and unfamiliar, the bubbling feeling of satisfaction, the warm afterglow of a good day. “And it had nothing to do with anyone at school or the stupid classes. I think I might actually have had fun.”

Her eyebrows rise in simulated shock, an overacted show of surprise, an invitation for the same in him. 

“Veronica…” 

It’s like a warning and she sits up straighter, a rise to his challenge. 

“You remember fun, don’t you, dad? We used to have it a long time ago.”

When he closes his eyes, he looks tired, then he opens them again and all he looks is old. 

“Does this have anything to do with Logan Echolls? You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.”

The way he says the name makes hackles rise on the back of her neck.

“What?” And she’s fairly sure she remembers this feeling, the draining of happiness into cold awareness and reality. “What’s wrong with Logan?”

She watches him drag the moment out, reluctance in every movement as he scratches his chin, fingers rubbing circles on the underside of his jaw, his head leaning back. 

“I just…” A deep breath in seems to give him courage. “Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but I just don’t want to see you hurt again. That’s all.”

They’ve both been there and they both know what he’s talking about. Months of tears and recriminations, eggs thrown at their door and insults aimed with a killing instinct, photos scored through with a blade, the glossy finish flaying under the strength of her pain. 

It isn’t as if she can get upset and claim he’s being unreasonable. Her dad has seen the worst in Logan and he does have a point. 

“Some people change.” She says it simply and she’s aware of the irony of protecting Logan against her father’s concerns when she’s had the same ones herself. “You taught me that.”

“I know.” He sighs and doesn’t exactly sound as if he means what he’s saying. “I know, sweetie. Just be careful.”

The possible awkwardness of the moment is broken by the sound of her phone trilling on the coffee table between them. 

“Logan!” And she’s fully aware of the knowing look in her dad’s eyes as she angles herself away from him. “You just can’t leave me alone, can you?”

But her good mood and teasing trails off in the wake of the sounds that come through the phone. 

“Wait, Logan, slow down.” Her voice rises a little. “Are you drunk? I can’t understand…”

Automatically, her body stands, seeking movement, and she’s walking towards her room without thinking about it. Her dad’s worried frown has intensified to the point of being smug and she doesn’t want to see it. She picks random words out of the jumble, words like _too much_ and _too far this time_ and _pain killers_ and _hate_ and _so fucking sick_. 

His voice is thick and sluggish, slurred with whatever he’s had to drink or swallowed, but he still rushes through everything and it comes out as a garbled mess of seething anger. 

One thing she’s aware enough to notice is that it’s not aimed at her. 

“Where are you?” It’s instinct, the need to take over. “Logan, do you want me to come to your house?”

She can practically feel the vehemence as a physical thing when he hisses his reply; the denial is that biting and strong. The rest is more of the same distorted nonsense, but she picks up the gist of it and she’s not exactly sure why her heart tightens a little bit more. 

“No.” Her voice is hard, harder than usual. “You are not driving like this, do you understand? Logan, listen to me, pull the car over now and wait for me, do you understand?”

She’s going to kill him. 

Eventually, she manages to get a locale, an address that makes her almost want to weep, and she makes him promise not to continue driving and to wait until she gets there. It’s not until she pulls on her jacket and goes to reach for her keys that she realizes the inherent problem with that idea. 

“Uh, dad?” Oh so softly. “I need to borrow your car.”

She smiles sweetly and innocently and he’s obviously not fooled as she walks back into the living room. 

“You do realize that drunken phone calls at ten o’clock at night really make my point for me, don’t you, Veronica?”

But it’s not a no and she snags the keys from the bench. 

“Don’t.” One simple word. “Not now.”

***

Veronica’s hands clutch the wheel as she drives. 

It’s not fair, she decides. Which really does amuse her, because she’d thought she was long past ever assuming the world was going to be fair again. But she had just gotten comfortable, relaxed, easing into the new role of having a friend like a pair of new shoes. A few blisters, maybe, but they were finding a groove. 

And now, now she is driving around the town to find a drunk, possibly drugged Logan Echolls and save him from killing himself on the roads. 

What the hell had happened in the three hours since he’d dropped her off at her house?

She had assumed that, just like her, he’d enjoyed the afternoon they’d spent. A little bit awkward, but a much needed relief in the tension that had built up during the day. She doesn’t want to admit it to anyone, let alone herself, but he really is beginning to slip underneath the boundaries she’d built up. 

His continued presence, the stark brutality with which his own friends have turned on him and she has noticed it, no matter how much he tries to hide it from her, his overall perseverance in trying to convince her he’s changed has begun to work. 

It feels good to feel relaxed around someone again. And, strangely enough, it feels good that it’s Logan. 

But that’s under controlled circumstances. Friendly fire. She knows where she stands in a school full of people who hate her, even when one of them begins to back her up, she knows the lay of the land in walking with him to get lunch over the weekend. 

One truth about Logan, obvious to anyone who knows him longer than a day, is that there is no such thing as controlled when it comes to him and alcohol. She doesn’t know what to expect when she finds him, it’s all too possible to find him cruel and vicious again. 

She isn’t sure she can take that, or recover from it if it happens. 

The X-terra is parked at an awkward angle, sliced diagonally over three parking spaces, and she mentally cringes at the state he must be in. But as she slides the car into a space nearby, her senses prick up, ears ready and eyes peeled. 

Logan is nowhere nearby. 

She slams the door and looks out over to the beach. This isn’t her beach, not the one she knows like the back of her hand, and this is one she barely strays down anymore. Too many memories and not enough friendly faces have kept her from it. 

It takes a few minutes to reach in and turn the keys in his ignition. She’s surprised the car is still here, actually, given that the engine was idling and the lights pooling weakly out over the sand. Her eyes spot his jacket, abandoned and forgotten on the passenger seat, and she picks it up, threading her cool arms through it as she begins to fight the sand. 

He is nowhere in sight and her lids crinkle in the wind, the fine dusting of granules that spray into her eyes, salt and sand both, as she looks first one way and then the other. The beach is empty, north and south, completely deserted, and she finally makes a decision. 

There is a cove of rocks in the distance, large slippery boulders that contain many places to avoid detection. 

Her hair is just long enough to be whipped into the side of her eyes. 

The closer she gets, the more she’s certain that’s where he is. It carries over to her on small wisps of wind, the sound of an angry voice, harsh and bitter, garbled yells of something. Once, there is even the sound of broken glass. 

Veronica can’t stop the hesitation she feels, her fingers curl into the pockets of his jacket and she bites her lip, forcing herself forward. 

Surely one of them is going to be hurt by this and history suggests it’s going to be her. 

But she forces herself onward. She’s not going to let fear be her excuse for letting Logan turn himself into another beachside statistic. He sounds as if he’s muttering to himself, she can’t quite pick out any singular words, just a buzzing of anger and it’s not making her progress any easier. Her fingers shake on a particularly large boulder as she uses it to steady herself, skirting around the slippery moss surface and rounding the bend. 

He’s there and her heart sinks into her throat. He’s standing with his feet planted in watery thick sand, his spine arched backwards to balance out the half full bottle of vodka he’s skulling from. His entire back is arched, over correcting and she has a horrid second of visualizing him falling back and hitting his head on the rocks. He doesn’t. 

“Logan?”

When he turns, he does stumble, feet slurping in the water muddy sand, but his face lights up. 

“Ronnie!” He points the bottle at her and doesn’t notice the flinch she gives at the name. “Ronnie’s have a drink wi’me?”

“No, thanks.” Somehow she keeps her voice steady as she climbs closer to him. “And I don’t think you should, either.”

Her eyes widen a little at the backpack lolling a few steps away, she can see several glass necks poking out, each of them a different level of full or empty. Shattered glass litters the rocks at his feet and she thinks she knows the answer to her question of whether there were any more. 

“S’what she does.” He slurs as he shrugs off her dismal, turning back to gesture wildly at the ocean. “Jus’ have another drink. Drink and drink ‘til she can’ see anymore. Why shoul’n I?”

There’s a deep bitterness in his tone and Veronica hugs her arms closer to her body. There’s a tall rock at her back and she leans on it. He’s mad, but not at her. She still gets the feeling she shouldn’t be hearing any of it, though, that the secrets about to pass his lips are ones she doesn’t want to know. 

“Mebbe…” He doesn’t even seem to care that she’s there anymore. “Mebbe tha’s the answer, huh? Jus’ drink! Mebbe I won’ care either!”

She winces at the long pull he gives on the bottle. He doesn’t seem to notice the fluid that leaks out the corner of his mouth and pours down the sides of his neck. He’s shaking on his feet. If she doesn’t stop him soon, she’s not going to be able to get him out of here by herself. 

“Fuck!” He screams the word into the air and Veronica bites down on her yelp when he lobs the bottle at one of the rocks at his feet. Glass and alcohol fumes spray into the air. “She does nothing! Nothing!”

He bends at the waist, falling over himself as he reaches for another drink. 

“Logan.” But her voice is barely more than a whisper and he obviously doesn’t hear her as he straightens with a scotch bottle. “Please…”

“She did’n always.” He spins in a wide, clumsy turn, the scotch sloshing in the near empty bottom of the glass. “You know, she tried, once, I was eight.”

Veronica looks up at the sky, all she can see is stars and the patterns aren’t anywhere near as comforting as they usually are. Her nose twitches and her throat tightens, she tries to take a deep swallow of air before she looks back at him. Before she looks this wild, angry, hurting creature that isn’t any form of Logan she knows. 

“She tried an’ he hit her, backhanded ‘cross the face!” A bitter, strangled laugh chokes out of his throat. “Bruised for a week an’ she had to cancel in’erviews. An’ it was my fault! MY fault! He was so mad.”

Another spray of glass screams up from the stones at his feet and Veronica feels the ripples of it on her own legs, feels a tiny shard bounce off the stone and ricochet off her shin. Automatically, her hands find the top surface of the boulder at her back and she pushes down, launching herself up as she scrambles to sit down, high enough to escape the rest of the night. 

“Logan, please…”

“So she drinks! An’ she has her fucking pills!” Another drink, another bottle and another grimace. He swallows deeply with a purpose and determination that scares her. “An’ mebbe I should too! Drink wi’ me, Ronnie!”

It’s the merest shudder of surprise when she realizes he still knows she’s there. 

“No.” She shakes her head, biting down on tears she doesn’t understand as she clutches herself around the waist. “And you need to stop now.”

He glares at her, but it’s more disappointment than anger and all she wants to know is how to get him to stop. 

“I need to fucking drink!” It’s a shout, belligerent and stubborn. “Jus’ another drink an’ another an’ another. Fuck this. If anyone needs to forget it’s me. An’ you.”

Her head slips back, back so she can look up at the stars again, anywhere than at the suddenly vicious and pointed looks he’s giving her, and swallow the tears he’s trying so hard to force up to the surface. 

“It’s a shitty fucking world, Ronnie, you know it! An’ drinking is the only way!” She wants him to stop, just wants him to stop, anyway and anyhow. “The only WAY!”

His last word is screamed, yelled, angry and raw and she doesn’t hear it over the loud shattering. For a brief second, before she can even process it, Veronica thinks he’s thrown the bottle at her. But it hits the boulder underneath her and a shard of glass slices through the side of her calf. 

“Logan! Stop it!” Suddenly her voice comes back, loud and just a little bit broken, shaking when she needs it to be strong. “You’re scaring me!”

Her teeth chatter and air makes them sticky inside her mouth when he stops still and his face drains of all color. It’s one second, a moment that stretches out in time, as he takes a step forward and his hand drops to his side, letting go of the bottle of Grey Goose he’d picked up when she wasn’t looking. 

It clatters on the rocks, but doesn’t break, rolling and grinding against the stone instead. 

“I’m…” The word catches, sticks in his throat as he comes to a still right in front of her. “I’m…”

She thinks she knows what he’s trying to say, but she can’t help him get there. She’s frozen, too, the backs of her legs shrinking from the cold stone and the sting of the night air cooling the trickle of blood that runs down to the side of her ankle. Her hands clench spastically against the rock and her spine scratches cold up and down. 

“… sorry…”

It croaks out, blustered and sharp, and the heat of his hand landing on the front of her knee makes her gasp. 

“Oh, god, Veronica.” There’s a rising surge of panic in his voice that isn’t doing anything to soothe hers. “I’m so sorry.”

She can’t move when he runs his thumb from the bottom of her ankle up the inside of her calf, just watches the deep moonlit red blood pooling against the arch of his skin. He wipes his hand down the front of his shirt and she sees herself smeared there, her blood across his chest, as he bunches up the hem and holds it to the small nick. 

“So sorry.” And his voice is back to hitching, catching, breaking up into a million pieces as he bows his head, unable to look up anymore. “Sorry… sorry… sorry…”

Her own throat tightens, closes painfully. 

“It’s okay.” She tries the words out and they sound strange and hollow to her ears. “It’s just a scratch. Logan, it’s okay.”

The back of his neck is slightly pink and looks oddly out of place with the rest of him, young and fresh and new as his head bends down, and she’s just considering this when she realizes that his shoulders are shaking. Those half choked little sounds he’s making are actually sobs. 

Veronica can’t breathe. 

“It’s okay, Logan.”

But it’s really not. She doesn’t know what to do. Anger and spite and bitterness, these she can deal with, denial and pretense, those too, she’s familiar with them all, but this, this she has no experience in. Raw pain eats at her like acid and she really has no idea what to do, other than her brain screaming unhelpfully _Do Something! Do SOMETHING!_

All she can think of is to reach up and place a hand on his shoulder, soft and gentle. 

It breaks something in him and he surges forward, wrapping himself around her. His arms snake around her hips, his chest pushes between her legs and he holds on tight, burying his head in her abdomen. She can feel the hitching rise of his breath pushing against her thighs and the frantic workings of his face trying to get under control. 

“Sh.” She whispers it, lost, into the air. “Sh, it’s okay.”

She doesn’t know what she’s saying as her hands hover above him, finally settling on his shoulders and stroking patterns down the side of his arms. Unintelligible sounds come from deep in his throat, choking, harsh, rasping sounds she doesn’t really want to identify. His head bows deeper, digs itself into the soft flesh underneath her ribs and all she can do is soothe her hands down his sides. 

Until she notices the neck of his shirt peak up against the angle he’s straining at. 

Her eyes drift down the pink skin of his neck and down further, to a redder, harsher color and she freezes. Breath catches deep in her lungs and she holds it, stays as still as she possibly can as her hands fall down to reach the bottom hem. Slowly, gradually, she pulls the material of his shirt up, inch by torturous inch winding in her fingers, and bares his back to the night air. 

He doesn’t react and Veronica closes her eyes. 

“Sh.” She whispers it into the shell of his ear as she runs fingers through his hair, the only safe place to touch, and doesn’t believe her own words. “It’s okay.”

***  
***

His head is thick and pounding when he fights his way to the surface. Logan’s not exactly sure what woke him up until he feels a trickle of warm water against his back. 

He’s lying on his stomach, somewhere warm and soft, and his shirt is gone. He has a brief moment of blurry panic until he feels the cloth land, soft and gentle, dragging against his skin. The air smells like antiseptic and the last thing he can remember is his father’s shouting. 

“Are you sure?”

Veronica’s voice, soft and nervous, makes his fingers curl into the cushions he’s lying on. 

“Yes.” The next voice takes a second or two to break through the pulsing of his brain, deeper and serious. “He’s going to be fine.”

Logan wants to fall deep into the bed or the sofa or wherever the hell they’ve put him when he hears Mr. Mars. 

“But…”

“Believe me, Veronica, I know these things.” There’s an undertone in Keith’s voice that takes Logan a while to realize is disgust. “Whatever… all the major organs were avoided. I know it looks bad, but they’re all surface wounds. It’s likely there’ll be nothing permanent.”

If it wasn’t for the feel of Veronica’s hands stroking his back, gentle and caring in a way he can’t remember for too long, soothing the worst of what he knows should be pain, he’d want to curl up and escape. 

“I can’t… I can’t…” The sound of Veronica’s voice hitching in pain eats at him. “Why?”

She uses a dry cloth to sponge up the astringent mix of water and antiseptic, gently dabbing his skin in reluctant pats. He can feel her hesitance to hurt him further and it burns a hole in his stomach. 

“I don’t know.” Keith sounds tired. “No one ever really knows…”

Her fingers pause and he feels them tremble. 

“But you knew.” There’s a bitter realization in her voice and Logan’s almost glad he can’t see her face. “You knew. You’d never let me go over there alone. I always had to have Duncan or Lilly with me. Always. You… you knew and you never…”

Logan feels a shift in the air around him and tries to fight his way back to full consciousness. 

“I didn’t know this.” The words come steadily, emotionlessly, the long practiced words of authority. “I never liked that family, true, but I never knew it was this bad. I can’t just arrest someone for giving me bad vibes, Veronica. Lynn never once came to me about this and neither did Logan. Nobody did. If I had known, I would have stopped it.”

There’s a choking sound that seems to echo in the shake of her fingers on his back. 

“So… what… what…?” She’s trying not to cry. “What do we do now?”

He’s not sure of the sequence of events and listening to their voices is probably the only thing keeping him from sinking back down into the pull of thick, heavy oblivion that tugs at him, but he feels a cool sensation prickling at his skin. 

It’s familiar in an old, forgotten way and his eyes flicker with the effort of trying to remember how many years since his mother actually spread ointment on his flayed back. 

“Veronica.” There’s a deep sadness in Keith’s voice. “I don’t know if he wants us to.”

The fingers on his back shudder. 

“What do you mean?” And she sounds angry. “We can’t do nothing! We can’t…”

A heavy sigh stops her.

She’s moving in complex patterns, the pads of her fingertips winding in a maze of touch on his back. Gentle circles and long strokes, the careful avoidance of anything too deep. It’s almost hypnotizing, the pressure and release of the blood vessels hiding under his swollen flesh. 

“He’s a grown boy, Veronica.” And he really wishes Keith didn’t sound so disappointed. “He’s not defenseless and he’s not a child anymore. If he wanted something done, he would have done it by now. I doubt if you hadn’t gone out tonight that you would ever have known about this, he would have kept pretending nothing had happened. You never would have known. For whatever reason, he wants it that way.”

“But…”

“It’s never easy. But sometimes you have to respect people’s decisions, even if you don’t like them.”

Then her hands leave altogether and nothing but empty space surrounds him. 

“But how?” Her voice is muffled somehow, buried deep. “How can I know this?”

Logan struggles for a moment, tries to work his mouth into enough movement to be able to tell her not to cry for him. He wants to tell her that it’s been worse and it’ll probably be worse again, that there’s nothing she can do.

He doesn’t, even half conscious he realizes that these aren’t the words she needs. 

“Sh, Veronica.” The soft cadence, the soothing lull of the voice pushes him back down into a haze that he can’t fight and the strange suggestion of a rhythmic back and forth near him, a rocking of sorts is comforting in a way he doesn’t register. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

***

A wet tongue wakes him. 

“Backup!” Veronica’s voice hisses across the room. “Leave him alone.”

Logan brings his hand up to his face and manages to smear sleep and saliva over his cheek. Lovely. His body aches, hurts in ways it really shouldn’t, but that don’t surprise him. The only real surprise is the placement of himself on the Mars’ sofa. 

He remembers his father and Lamb and his mother slipping him the pills in preparation. He remembers the blows and his mother’s raised voice, slight panic and his father’s anger. He remembers nothing that isn’t on a reel of repeating images. Another day, another spool; another unexplained absence from school.

Huh, well, he remembers being expelled. That should clear that problem at least. 

“Meneneh.” He manages to mumble. “I think I’m awake.”

There’s a slightly awkward pause. He’s been here before. He knows what follows. He doesn’t remember the exact sequence of events last night, but he can figure them out. It’s more than likely she knows. It’s more than likely she’s had visual proof. 

It starts with the refusal to meet his eyes, the awkward gestures and distracting statements. Wide eyed, bambi looks and pity buried so far deep it begins to burn every time she looks at him. Clumsy, overstated comments meant to be subtle hints and then, after his denial, sudden cool relief. 

And then it’s never mentioned again. 

Occasionally, maybe, if she sticks around, she’ll get this guilty glaze over her eyes when she looks at him and he’ll have to be extra careful not to wince too hard or move too slowly for her liking, because he’ll begin to resent the way her eyes slide away, the way she tries too hard not to see anything. Anything at all. 

It’s a bad, expectant taste in his mouth as he forces himself into a sitting position. 

“About time.” She half chides. “The day’s half over. You’ve missed breakfast.”

Logan blinks at the half cheery voice reaching him. That’s… that’s not part of the usual order of things. And it seems, somehow, at odds with what he was expecting from her.

“Oh.” Is his all too intelligent response as he glares at his watch. Two in the afternoon. “Hey, don’t you have school?”

When she walks into his line of sight, she looks too chipper to be Veronica. 

“What? A little boxed in room with a special aide teacher overseeing private study? Please. Dad’ll write me a note.”

A shirt lands in his lap, cotton fluffy and smelling vaguely like lemon soap powder. 

His confusion must show on his face. 

“It’s my dad’s.” A soft pause. “Yours didn’t last the night.”

He has vague flashes of blood and a very strong feeling of guilt that he can’t place, something about rocks and salt and the sound of waves crashing at his back. 

“What…?”

Instead of finishing the question, his fingers wind into the shirt, again and again, burying themselves further. He feels the sudden, inexplicable need to hide. Maybe he doesn’t want to know, maybe he doesn’t want to know why she feels comfortable sitting herself down next to him, sharing the same twisted sheet that clings to his skin with his own sweat. 

“You know where the shower is.” The light teasing in her voice is unmistakable, but he still doesn’t look up. “I highly suggest you use it.”

He feels her nudge him a little, just the softest little edge of her knee into his. His eyes take in the pattern of the carpet under his feet. 

“I…”

“Come on.” She sighs and then slaps her hand down on the end of his knee to push herself back up. “We’ve got lots to do today and none of it’s getting done sitting on the sofa. Get your ass up, Echolls.”

He’s too confused and just a little bit stunned to argue, so he blindly makes his way into the bathroom and stands in front of the mirror. Although, the image looking back at him really makes him wish he didn’t. His eyes are red and puffy, his cheeks are sunken and his face is so shadowed it looks bruised. 

When he turns, it just gets worse. His neck stretches a little and the muscles and tendons of his right arm stretch even more as he twists and probes at the garish result of the night before. Honestly, it’s not too bad; he’s seen a lot worse. In fact, this is better than he’s been in a long time in the mornings after and he thinks it has to do with the small, white gauze squares taped to several places. 

He can’t really imagine Mr. Mars taking the time, not with him, and the image really does seem at odds with something in his brain. Something that he’s not sure remembers or merely wants to remember smaller, softer hands. 

There’s a confusing flash in his brain, something about blood on the front of his shirt, a large slash of it right across his chest. Logan runs his hand down between his pectorals. They’re clean and unharmed, not a scratch on them. 

He gets the strangest feeling it wasn’t his. 

The water is as hot as he can make it without flinching. Well, maybe he flinches a little. The heat draws out the worst of the pain, that’s how he deals, and there’s no point doing things half way. And as he leans his hands fully on the tiles, letting the steam billow in his face and the water pound heavily on his back, he digs his brain further. 

He wants to know how he got here, how she found him. 

There’s the slight pinkish remains of blood swirling in the drain under his feet. Maybe he doesn’t want to know after all. 

Maybe he should focus elsewhere, maybe he should look up and see a bottle of shower gel, good quality, the kind that gives a rich lather, foaming up and leaving scents all day long. But that image isn’t doing him any favors either; he closes his eyes and tries to block out the thought of Veronica soaping herself up. 

It doesn’t work entirely.   
The shirt is a little too big, but it feels comfortable, warm somehow. His pants slide on feeling slightly greasy and stiff, grainy from the beach. 

Sand. 

“Veronica?” He walks back out to the kitchen with a purpose. “Why are you wearing pants?”

She raises her eyebrows at him, somewhat more amused than he’d like. 

“Geez, Logan, at least buy me dinner first.”

“Don’t…” He shakes his head clear of a kaleidoscope of memories. “You usually wear skirts, especially in this heat. Why are you covering your legs?”

The way she looks away, takes a big, guilty swallow before meeting his eyes again is really all he needs to know. 

“What did I do? Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She looks uncomfortable with the conversation, but he believes her. “It wasn’t you. There was some glass on the beach. It wasn’t… just drop it.”

Her blood, his shirt, he’s not sure what to make of it, but he does know a peace offering when he hears it. Her light, overly cheery manner is at odds with a voice in his head, somewhat shaky and crying and asking reasons why when there are no real answers. 

He knows when to bite the bullet and leave things alone, despite evidence to the contrary. 

“So?” He asks, an imitation of her false bravado. “Where are we going in such a hurry?”

She smiles at him then. 

“I called Cliff already, he’s got a copy of the footage for us. We go get that and then we go talk to the guy. See where we go from there.”

He nods. 

“Let’s go then.”

***


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thinks the pressure of the day is threatening to choke them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** pg-13 (but there is language here).  
>  **Spoilers:** Pre-series, but some season one stuff.   
> **Warnings:** None, not really.   
> **Disclaimer:** Oh, they’re not mine. I just take them out of their boxes, play with them, muss there hair a bit, and put ‘em back when I’m done.

*~*~*~*  
 **…TO DREAM** , chapter five.  
*~*~*~*

Duncan’s fingers close tightly around the pen in his hand. 

The sharp jagged stars he draws in a continuing pattern without lifting the nib from the paper become deep, scored with ink, scratched over and over again in angry little spears. 

Next to him, as the monotonous sounds of Miss Murphy reading waft through his brain, a chair sits empty. He doesn’t even need to look to the left, he can _feel_ the absence of it’s occupant. It grates up his spine with every breath he takes.

Logan is not in school today. 

Duncan bites the inside of his cheek, captures it between his teeth and squeezes hard until he can feel the blood vesicles bursting, until little white dots cloud his vision and he can taste coppery blood on his tongue. 

Veronica is absent, too. 

He doesn’t know what they’re doing and there’s no way to find out. His brain is working overdrive and it echoes with all the malicious gossip floating about the school. The fact of their combined absences did not escape public notice. 

Not that he’s foolish enough to believe any of the hype, all the outrageously fabricated stories, each more outlandish than the other. But the fact remains that he doesn’t know the truth and his brain is left to wonder what and why and how. 

And that will never do. 

He needs a plan. 

The school day is nearly over and he can be at his father’s office in twenty minutes. He could call, but this is a favor best asked in person, when he can use his special brand of Downtrodden Son Eyes mixed with just the slightest Hope of Renewed Passion. His father is eager to see him engaged in anything and pressing that button is crucial to sliding underneath the person he’s asking for. 

It won’t be easy, but it’ll be worth it. Worth having them back at school, where all the viciousness can be based in half-truths and easily corroborated fact. He doesn’t like not knowing, doesn’t like the feeling that they’re hiding something from him. 

Everybody hides things. They think he doesn’t know, they smile and they nod and they slip him little blue pills and send him on his way. He has a collection of them, fine dusty blue, grinding to powder in the bottom of his pockets. 

It tastes like chalk if he dabs his fingers in it and licks them. 

“Hey Duncan.” The highly amused voice of Dick Casablancas interrupts his thoughts and he blinks up. “Man, where are you? Zombie land? You need a tissue or what?”

Duncan blinks again and looks down at the furious scrawl of scribbled stars. The pen is shattered in two and his fist is clenched around a drying pool of ink. 

The bell has sounded. 

***

He doesn’t wait long. 

They show him through the large, thick paneled doors with bright smiles and just a small touch of nervousness raising their voices. _Right this way, Mr Kane, your father will see you now_. He wonders if it’s protocol, if there’s a Family Visit Drill practiced every Thursday after lunch. 

Or maybe it’s just for him, maybe the sidelong glances and just a little too long stares are a legacy of being the doped up, remaining heir of the office. 

“Duncan. What brings you here?” Jake greets him warmly from behind his desk, papers spread out before him, waiting for his signature. Waiting, everything waits. A mock hopefulness enters the man’s voice, teasing that covers slightly bitter truths. “Not looking for an after school job, are you?”

He doesn’t want to file random papers and he doesn’t want to rule the world. He thinks that answer covers any question his father was really asking, but he doesn’t voice it. He blushes instead, dipping his head in embarrassed nerves.

“It’s about school, actually.”

“Oh?”

“I need some help.” And the sudden spark of curiosity, the eagerness with which Jake slides the files out of his hands and gives him full attention stabs Duncan hard. “Actually, it’s not me, it’s… some people need my help and I thought the Kane name might still have some pull.”

Jake steeples his hands together as he leans back in the deep, leather chair. 

“Always ready to step in.” His father smiles, genuine under the gleam of acknowledged cheese. “You want me to help you play hero, huh?”

“Uh, yeah.” He takes a breath in. “The school’s being unfair. A lot of things have happened recently and Logan just got expelled and they’ve taken someone else out of everyday classes… It’s not their fault. It would mean a lot if…”

Jake’s not an idiot, he never has been, and the smile starts to fade as fast as the corners of his eyes narrow. 

“Someone else? Someone else who?”

Duncan looks down to the thick shag carpeting and mumbles under his breath. 

“Veronica.”

Jake sighs deeply, a furrow digging into his forehead and his tongue licking at his dry lips, stalling the inevitable. 

“Duncan, you’re not…? I mean…” The chair creaks as Jake leans forward. “We’ve talked about Veronica before.”

“I know.” He hurries to agree. “I know and it’s not like that. I swear. It’s just… what they’ve done… it’s not fair.”

***  
***

He turns the camera around and around in his hands, examining it from every angle, though he’s not exactly sure what he expects to notice this time around that he hasn’t noticed in the last forty minutes. He thinks he’s never known video equipment quite like he knows this one. 

“Oh my god, Logan.” Veronica suddenly clenches her jaw in the seat next to him. “If you don’t put that thing down in the next twenty seconds, you’re going to need a proctologist to remove it.”

“Geez.” He rolls his eyes, but complies, stretching his arm out and depositing it on the dash. “You’re a big, ball of sunshine today.”

Her eyes screw shut and her shoulders heave with a giant breath and then she shakes her eyes open again, sighing out and replacing her annoyed expression with a gentle smile. He sees the switch as a physical being, a stark reminder of what isn’t said. 

“Sorry.” She admits. “It’s just… We’ve been over it again and again and I can’t work it out. We met him, he didn’t seem like a fraud, right? I mean, that hand was really messed up. And if I have to watch that video one more time…”

She ends her rant with a frustrated growl and stamps her foot inside the car. 

He has to admit, it looks pretty bad. They got a copy of the video showing Cliff’s client using his right hand. It looked genuine as far as he can tell, not that he’s an expert on surveillance. Then they spent half an hour talking with the client, a guy who, for all intents and purposes, was screwed. Logan winces, remembering the gnarled stump that remained of his hand. 

“We’ve missed something.” She insists stubbornly and her fingers begin to click on the keyboard of her laptop again and she jabs at the result impatiently. “There’s nothing here. He’s never even had a parking ticket. He’s a saint, for crying out loud.”

He watches the side of her face as she scans the web page, the man’s history before her eyes, and not for the first time that day he wonders exactly how long she’s been able to do that, just type in a person’s name and discover all their sordid little secrets. 

Without his permission, his eyes linger on the curve of her jaw and the line of her neck, the flush of annoyance on her cheek that turns her skin pink. If he leaned forward, he’s pretty sue he’d be able to smell the shower gel he saw in her bathroom earlier. 

That train of though goes nowhere good, not when he’s stuck in a car with her, not when he’s promised her he’s not going there, not when it makes him shift in his seat. 

Logan grabs the camera again and presses play for the thirtieth time. 

“Do you think I was joking, Logan?”

The little man inside the camera lugs shopping bags with his right hand, walking down the street easily, his left arm tucked inside his jacket. It looks pretty damning. Logan’s eyes watch him jimmy his front gate open with his knee, watch him place the bags on the ground and open the letter box, watch him place his mail in his teeth and use his right hand to pick the bags up again. Then he spins to the left and walks towards his house. 

“Hey!” Something clicks and it slides into his brain like the last piece of a puzzle. “This isn’t his house, not… not the one we’re looking at anyway.”

Her eyes flicker to the house they’ve been staring at for the past hour and then flicker back down to the tiny screen in his hands. 

“What? It’s exactly the same house.”

“No, it’s not.” He insists, and then angles the camera more towards her. “The letterbox is on the wrong side.”

Veronica grabs the camera and peers down into it, a sly smile growing on her features as she does so. 

“Those bastards.”

***

The waitress balances the tray carelessly against her hip as she deposits their food just as carelessly on the table in front of them. Her hair is limp and her skin pocked, her eyes are bored and her smile false. If she were only chewing gum, Logan thinks, snapping it between yellowed teeth, it would complete the picture. 

He grins across the table. 

“You’re going to eat all that?”

Veronica gives him a happy smile and nods, not fazed in the slightest. 

“Well.” He sighs and shakes out a paper napkin delicately between his fingers before laying it down on his lap dramatically. “I sure will miss you when they ship you off to fat camp.”

A fry hits him on the cheek and her eyes glitter in faux innocence. 

“You said.” She points out calmly. “I could have anything on the menu.”

“Yes.” He agrees. “Anything on, not everything.”

She sighs and dips her head over the top of her milkshake glass, angling her head to look up at him while her lips hover over the straw. 

“I missed this.”

She looks fourteen again, a momentary careless smile and a light in her eye, then it disappears, forgotten forever as she rebuilds her defenses and her gaze slips back down to the frothy concoction sliding up the straw. He watches her cheeks hollow and her throat bobble and the tips of her fingers playing idly with the plastic. 

He gulps audibly and tosses a fry into his mouth, salty and hot, chewing it over and over again to give himself something to do. 

“I’m a man of my word.”

The silence of the moment had begun to stretch out awkwardly, so he snaps the conversation back a few steps, takes it out of the rocky path of what is and what was and how it all got fucked up and he’s really not sure what exactly he’s supposed to be saying about it, so he prefers to say nothing at all. 

“We’re celebrating, Mars, so eat up.”

Her face widens in surprise. 

“Celebrating?”

“Yes.” He nods grandly. “I solved my first case.”

Her fist rises in record time to cover the little spit-take giggle gasp that explodes out of her mouth. 

“You? Solved?”

“Yes.” He nods, undeterred. “I was instrumental in…”

She puts the milkshake down and reaches across the table to gently pat at his hand. 

“Well, you helped, anyway…”

“Instrumental.” He carries on, regardless, a little more firmly this time. “My presence was vital. I think I should get a cut of the profits here.”

She nods, brow puckered, and pretends to consider it for a long moment. 

“Yes, yes of course. In fact, you can have twenty percent… no fifty… wait, you can have all the profit!”

He frowns. 

“It’s a pro bono case, isn’t it?”

Her smug smile is lost behind a fry as she uses it to tap her nose. 

***

He thinks the pressure of the day is threatening to choke them both. 

Back in her car, back in the passenger seat, Logan looks out the window as he watches the line of the beach roll. Yellow sand and grey blue water, colliding in roll of white, foaming out like a blanket and then pulled back into the ocean. 

They’ve spent hours solving this case and then eating and all the while pretending that it was just another day, an average day, that they sat and talked and joked every day of their lives, that she hadn’t spent the night laying thick white gauze on his back. 

He shifts in the seat, purposefully scratching the material against his skin. It still aches and he thinks he needs the reminder. 

“So….”

Her voice spikes and then trails off, whistling down to nothing as she waits for a response. 

Repetitive clicking tells him she’s just as uncomfortable as he is, he can follow the movement in his mind, her nails coming down on the wheel as she drives, one two one two one two one two, it’s present in the too precise calculated movements of adjusting the radio and the window and the aircon.

Sweat threatens to prickle out on his skin, beaten back only by the aggressive air being pumped through the vents. 

“I’ll…” She starts again, awkward. “I’ll take it to Cliff after…”

After. The words don’t follow, but they hang in the air anyway. After she drops him at his car. After she says goodbye. After he goes home all alone. 

They’re saved by the ringing of the bell, more specifically, the buzzing of his cell. He gives the number a brief, puzzled glance before answering. 

“Hey Mom.”

He doesn’t miss the surprised, nervous glance Veronica sends his way. 

“Logan.” And he wonders how she does it, how she’s always done it, made his name into that mixture of concern, admonishment, relief and warning all at once. “Where have you been?”

He doesn’t mince words. 

“Recovering.”

It even makes Veronica flinch. 

“You should come home soon.” His mother advises. Always advises, never orders. “Your father… he got a call from the school to renegotiate the terms of your expulsion… there’s a disciplinary meeting scheduled… possible return…”

Her words gnaw at something in his brain, something horrible, something… 

“Logan.” She sighs. “He didn’t know you’d been expelled.”

“Right.” He gulps it out, not trusting himself to get any further than that. “Won’t be long.”

The phone clicks shut with a snap and he holds it still inside his fist for several seconds, letting the skin stretch over his knuckles, turning a ghastly white as he does so. His jaw tightens, teeth grinding against each other. 

“Logan?”

Veronica is nervous, he can hear the panic riding her voice and he wants to look over and tell her it’s going to be okay, that she doesn’t have to worry, not about him. 

“Fuck!”

The phone bounces off the windscreen and skitters somewhere between them to the back, soft sounds of plastic on leather seats. His empty fist beats down on his thigh, again and again, and he growls out his frustration. 

“Logan!” He feels rather than hears the sudden swerving of the car and the short, sharp stop. “Logan, calm down.”

His lungs suck the air in almost against his will and he takes a second to hold it in, count to ten, to twenty, before letting it all out with a hiss. 

“I’m okay.” His words are oddly calm. “I have to go home.”

“No. No…” She shakes her head as she bites her lip, eyes widening. “No, Logan, you can stay with us, you can…”

But he can’t. And she knows it; she has to. 

What they haven’t said all day, what they’ve ignored and pretended didn’t exist comes crashing down among them, swirling in thick, nauseating waves around their heads. 

“I’ll be fine.” He tries for comforting, but even to him it comes off as sadly resigned, and he bites the bullet. “He won’t… not two nights running.”

Words. Acknowledgement. Ugliness. 

“What’s going to happen?”

She asks it softly, quietly, afraid. He can hear it, the fear in her voice, and it slides up his spine, a soft, gentle hand with fingers that wrap around his spinal cord and tug. She’s scared, but she’s not turning away and she’s not ignoring it. 

“He’ll talk big.” He nods at her, a gentle encouragement, and she gives a small, unconscious nod back. “Menace some more, lots of talk about bringing shame to the family, the usual.”

He hopes he sounds convincing. 

Her hand shakes as she starts the ignition again. 

“You don’t have to go back.”

“Yeah, I do.”

She doesn’t understand, not really, not that he expects her to. 

***

He spots the Xterra long before they reach it. 

It’s pretty hard to miss. Being large, bright yellow, and so haphazardly parked he’s surprised it hasn’t been towed or at least had a boot placed on the tires. It looks as if he just rolled the thing towards the beach and turned it off without parking. 

He must have been out of it. 

“Ouch.”

Veronica gives him a sympathetic look as she deftly parks the car next to his monstrosity and turns the ignition. 

“It could be worse.”

He raises his brow and looks at her, asking the question without actually speaking. How?

She gives a little teasing grin and offers up his keys, dangling on the end of her outstretched finger. 

“You could have left the engine running and the doors open.” She has to see the horror in his eyes, because her smile widens and her voice rises just a little bit more. “Open, just waiting for any passing lout to stop by and place their greasy hands all over her dash, bringing sand in from the beach…”

“Oh my god.” Logan throws himself from the car and launches himself at the Xterra. “Oh, baby! Baby, I’m so sorry.”

The bright yellow gleams under his hand as he caresses it. The heat of the day’s sun can be felt strongly in the paintwork. He leans in so that his mouth is close and he can see the puff of his breath steam out over the car. 

“It’ll never happen again.” Soft, soothing tones. “I promise.”

Veronica laughs to the side. 

“You are really, really sad, you know it?”

He turns to face her in horror, keeping his back in contact and continuing to brush the car with his fingertips. 

“My baby!” It’s a whisper of disbelief. “Don’t you talk about my baby like that!”

“I’m sorry.” She nods in mock seriousness and blinks heavily, penitently. “Didn’t mean to offend…”

He nods, affirmative, mock appreciation at her apology. 

“I mean, not the Big Banana.” She continues with a blank, innocent face. “Not Mellow Yellow. I wouldn’t insult Big Bird, not me.”

“Okay.” He begins to roll up imaginary sleeves. “Them’s fighting words, Veronica. You take them back.”

Her eyes glitter at him and a smile tugs up the corners of her mouth, he can see the edges of her eye teeth and a genuine enjoyment in her face. The urge to kiss her is so strong that he does the only thing he can. His hands lunge in for the tickle. 

She gives a small, restrained little squeal and shifts out of his reach, turning her torso against the black of her car, swiveling away from him and jumping back a few feet. Her hand comes out in a warning to him, a weak little attempt to hold him off. 

But she doesn’t go far. 

“No.” She warns as he steps in closer, her face struggling to maintain seriousness. “I’m not kidding, Logan.”

“Then take it back.” He offers the deal at the same strategic moment his left hand finds her waist, slips in under the hem of her shirt. “Say you’re sorry.”

“Never!” Comes the gasp as she tries not to laugh, face turning red against the giggles. “Stop it.”

Her skin is warm and almost clammy under her clothes, flat and too soft and his fingertips tingle as he draws random little harried sketches. Her feint to the right is stopped by his other hand coming in to hold her still and she’s blocked, inching this way and that to escape him. 

“Logan, no!” It’s a plea now and he knows he’s close. “No, come on, stop it!”

A smug grin warms his face. 

“Give up?”

Her face rises suddenly and she’s flushed red with impotent fury. 

“Yes.” An admission that comes hard and panted and strained. “Yes, okay? You win, I’m sorry, let me go.”

His fingers stop their relentless quest and suddenly he’s struck, they’re both struck, by how close he is, pushing her up against the side of her car. The air becomes thick and heavy and awkward and yet he still can’t step back. 

This was not the way to go to stop himself wanting to kiss her. 

Her eyes flicker hard and he can’t read them, he wants to dissect them, wants to be able to understand the change from bright eager laughter to heavy seriousness. And then, suddenly, it’s Veronica that launches herself up, her arms flying around his neck. 

It’s not the tight, intimate embrace that precedes a kiss, it’s not what he really wants, it’s Veronica trembling as she squeezes his frame. 

“Call me.” She orders softly into his ear. “You call me tonight.”

His hands settle softly on top of the curves of her hip reassuringly. 

“Veronica…”

But she won’t let him finish. 

“I swear to god, Logan…” Her words struggle thickly out of her throat. “You won’t stay, fine, but don’t make me worry. You call me or I will break down your door. Do you understand me?”

Oh, he understands. Even as he sits in his car and forces his reluctant hand to start the ignition. Even as he forces himself to watch her car become a smaller, smaller speck in the small rectangle of rearview mirror. He understands all too well. 

***  
***

There’s a heat strange to this time of year building in the horizon, it’s too early, and Veronica blinks as she watches the large orange crescent of the sun sinking into the distance. 

She thinks about her day and the weeks preceding it. 

Last night opened something deep inside her that she hadn’t thought existed any more. A deep, instinctual need to protect Logan. It had been there before, long ago, some unspoken word between the four friends. A knowledge that he was a jackass and a bad boy and, for some unknown reason, he was allowed to be. They’d protected him from himself and laughed off some of the more unforgivable things he’d done. Nobody had given her any sign of why and she wondered if Lilly or even Duncan had known. 

When she’d seen the damage done, when her father had explained the merits of allowing him to choose his own course of action, she’d promised herself that she would help him, no matter what it took, that she would try and keep his mind off the horror of his slashed back. She would force herself to smile and pretend as if she didn’t know, nothing was wrong, she was enjoying herself. 

But, as the day wore on, the strangest thing had happened and she hadn’t been pretending.

She thinks about the feel of his hands sliding up under her shirt. They didn’t get very far, innocent, staying to the safe area of her tummy and waist, but her skin still sizzles with it. It strikes her as vaguely horrifying to realize the ease to which she’d given in and, dammit, that was almost flirting. 

She can’t go there, not with him. 

The very thought of it terrifies her, freezes her throat and makes her pulse skitter fast. 

Her fingers shake a little as she flips open her phone. 

“Cliff!” She slides quick and easy into professionalism. “Good news.”

***

The office is drenched in their things, their name hangs over the entry way, the door, the nameplates on her father’s desk, there are prints on the wall and a large frame with a birthday message to her father signed from her on his wall. There is no mistaking who works here, who belongs. 

And, yet, Cliff always chooses this office as his neutral stomping ground. 

She’s only seen his office once and, while it wasn’t the biggest or flashiest office around, it wasn’t as if the Mars family could boast anything greater. She doesn’t know why he shies away from meeting there. She thinks maybe it has to do with all the files, claustrophobic cabinets with names and information and seedy stories that follow him every day. 

“Miss Mars.” He greets her with a heavy dose of warmth and welcome, always welcome even though it isn’t his office. “So glad you called.”

He treats her, sometimes, like a wild animal that needs to be gentled and eased, he does it with his loud boisterous voice and coolly collected manner. It’s heavily biased into not being biased, that objective strength of ‘I don’t listen to town gossip and I voted for you and you’d be welcome at my cook outs if I ever had cook outs and what impeachment?’

“Cliff.” She looks at the clock. “Didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

A knowing chuckle teases the corners of his lips and he winks. 

“I have a pause button. What’ve you got?”

The file clinks crisply against the desk as she neatens it pointedly. 

“Images I don’t want. Stop sharing.” A glossy photo slides across the desk and she lifts her fingers off it one by one. “Screen cap of the video busting your client’s balls.”

He looks at it briefly, a frown dotting the middle of his forehead. 

“I’ve seen it.”

“Really?” She taps it again, fingertips playing with the surface, one by one. “I mean, did you really look at it?”

He’s puzzled now and he leans forward to examine the print. 

“What? What am I missing?”

“Nothing.” She tells him primly, annoyingly smug. “At least, nothing they didn’t want you to see. They filmed it through a mirror. He’s clean, doesn’t use the injured hand at all. I suspect when this comes to light, they’ll not only continue paying his costs, but they’ll finalize a nice settlement to go with it.”

He grins. 

“Your karma’s golden, kid.” 

“Karma?” She makes a small raspberry sound. “Screw karma, I want a bonus.”

His head quirks to the left, shrewd eyes with a playful gleam. 

“So, what’s the going rate these days? Bubblegum? Pop rocks?”

She shrugs. 

“How ‘bout the new micro GSM4000u?”

A low whistle hums across the room. The look he gives her is one of indulgence tinged heavily with surprise and awe. She thinks he knows she’s not really joking, but he desperately wants her to be. 

“Oh, you kids and your crazy illegal listening devices. Nice try. Ask your dad.”

***

As the night drags on, her nerves get the better of her. 

She walks into the apartment already brittle and on edge, defensive after her evening of pretending for Cliff. It’s always easy to be in a good mood with the lawyer around, but less so when she’s waiting for a call. Either from Logan or from someone else about Logan. 

Common sense tells her that he has not, as long as she’s known him, ever been so bad that he’s been hospitalized or incapacitated to the point where he couldn’t make a call and there is nothing to suggest Aaron will differ from this pattern or self-preservation, but her imagination is her enemy and she thinks it’s different now. Now that it’s out in the open, now that she knows, she expects everything to shout it, to worsen, to make it unbearable. 

She both wants the call and dreads it and somehow joking with Cliff makes her feel hypocritical or worse, makes her skin feel sticky and tainted, like she needs a shower. 

“Hey Honey!” Her father calls from the sofa where he has his feet up watching the screen. “Just in time, I was thinking of sending out the search dogs.”

Backup gives a small huffle of agreement from the floor. Probably aggrieved at the suggestion of bringing in outside help. His protest, however, goes unnoticed by Keith who watches her with steely eyes. He saw the little startle she gave, that one second of flinch when his voice was sudden and loud. 

Sometimes she thinks his eyes can see everything, even things not visible to mere mortals. 

“Sorry.” She smiles awkwardly, pausing by the door. There’s a slight reluctance to close it and she doesn’t know why. A finality of the day, an admittance of giving up, of not being ready to rush out if she’s needed. “Lost track of time.”

Time counts down slowly. 

“So.” He gives in first, voice pointed. “How was school?”

Like a bunny in a cartoon, she has walked straight into the trap. 

“Oh, um…” Her brain skitters around a few curves. She could lie in the hopes that he doesn’t really know, but his hawk like eyes tell her he already does and lying will just make it worse. So she breathes in. “I didn’t actually go.”

He nods, takes another swallow of his soda. 

“Did you happen to graduate two years early without telling me?”

The door closes and her breath comes out in a rush. Guilt flooding nerves already sodden with fear and anticipation. 

“I’m sorry, but it was a really bad day and it’s not as if I was missing anything vital. There were more important things. I mean, you saw…”

He sits up carefully, his feet hitting the floor one by one. 

“I did.” And his hand rakes what’s left of his hair. “But that doesn’t mean you get to skip out on any more school than you already have, Veronica. Your grades are slipping enough as it is.”

He doesn’t elaborate and she doesn’t think he needs to. It hits her in a guilty rush, that all encompassing knowledge of his loss of job and security and all the money he’d had to throw into starting up the business and the time she’d caught him awake at two am staring down at finances and bills and budgets and the big, black Lianne shaped hole in their lives. 

“I’m trying.” But it sounds weak to her and she doesn’t want to know how it sounds to him. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

Two years sounds like a long time, but it’s not, not in reality, and she knows he’s already worried about college. Her grand ideas of living off of scholarships seem to be nothing less than idle speculation when she thinks about her careless, carefree attitude to school lately. 

“From now on.” She promises with nothing but surety in her voice. “I’ll be the model student. Better than. You’ll see.”

He nods, comforted for the time being and pats the space on the sofa next to him. She slinks into it, fits easily by his side and eyes the television screen warily. Sometimes her father has cheesy taste in viewing. 

“Good. Because they called while you were out.”

“They?”

“Your school.” He says in a tone of voice that suggests he’s talking to a half-wit. “Mr. Clemmons wants to discuss returning you to your normal classes. He feels, what was the phrase? He feels that you’re not maximizing your potential in a segregated setting.”

Her eyebrows quirk. 

“Basically he thinks I’m cutting too much and he’s giving in?”

He nods. 

“I got the feeling there was something else, but that’s the gist of it, yes.”

She tries for cute, with a perky smile. 

“See? It worked!” But the look he levels at her is serious and her face falls. “Okay, seriously, I will try harder. Man, his timing sucks. Who invites people back to school on a Friday?”

Keith shakes his head. 

“At least you’ll have the weekend to sit and think about your delinquent tendencies and come up with ways to make it up to your poor, suffering father. A fern frond fan, perhaps?”

Even for teasing it makes her brows quirk. 

“A fan?”

He gestures to the television and she turns to see the tail end of a weather report seeing the illustrated temperature lines spike. 

“Summer’s early.” His voice is offhand and casual. “Least you’ve got the weekend to hide. Think of me, trudging through all that to earn the necessary riches to keep you in this luxury?”

He’s teasing, she knows it, but she can also hear a slight undertone of uncertainty in his voice. They thought they had plenty of time before the real heat of summer hit and neither of them is sure about the dinky little apartment’s cooling system. He’s been saying he’d get it checked soon, sooner or later and she’s been joking that they’ll both lose weight in their free sauna. They both laugh at the unfunny comments, but it’s sometimes harder to ignore the worried, defeated look in his eyes. 

Little details in the past few weeks become clearer, the sweat on her skin showing too early in the year, the sun burning hotter than usual, the building, stretching, burning tension in the air that she hadn’t bothered to notice because of everything else she’d been dealing with. 

The closing subtitles over the weather report dub it an early heat wave. 

Veronica squeezes her arms around his waist and rests her cheek on his neck. 

***

The sun is well past set and the air around her is inky blue. 

She couldn’t sit at home, all alone in her claustrophobic room, so she finds herself on the beach again staring out into the rolling, turbulent ocean. Her arms wrap around her torso and she clutches her elbows close. It’s more for comfort than heat. Her legs feel stick skinny poking out of shorts, her knobbly knees awkward as she fights the push and pull of the sand under her feet. 

She doesn’t know quite how she missed it. Now that she knows, not that the words are embedded in her head, her entire body picks up the heat of the evening. It pours out over her, hot salty wind blowing the strands of her hair into her face. 

Even this late at night, after she snuck out to avoid the glaring, disapproving eyes of her father, the sand at her feet holds no coolness, even under the broken surfaces. She can usually dig her toes in, push them in and feel the warm sun warmed surface give way to the softer, cooler, damp underlay. 

It’s all baked dry. 

Eleven at night and Logan still hasn’t called her. Her phone sits heavy and silent in her pocket. Her fingers find it at regular intervals, caress the buttons, a physical check, touching base, she needs to feel it. Nerves are well past stretched and she thinks if she has to wait much longer she may just give into her threat and drive to the Echolls mansion.

Large, warm hands slide around her waist and a chin hovers at the side of her neck. All she feels is a great, huge, tidal wave of relief. 

“You came back.”

She turns with a wide smile, expecting to see Logan’s brown eyes watching her, a guilty little grin on his face, because this is the sort of thing he’d do, make her worry, just so he can see her expression. 

But it’s not Logan and her reaction time is off. 

Veronica pulls back a second too late and she looks into the confused, disappointed, slightly angry face of Duncan. 

“You thought I was him?” His voice shakes a little. “You thought I was Logan?”

She doesn’t know why, but something tells her to take another step back. 

“Yes.” It leaves her shaky and groundless and she doesn’t like this feeling at all. “Why… why wouldn’t…?”

His jaw clenches and then relaxes, clenches again. She watches the play of muscles tighten and release. 

“It’s always about him, isn’t it?”

Somewhere, somehow, she’s trying to reconcile this boy standing in front of her, with the memories she has of a docile, happy, loving boy who smiled and laughed and held her purse and willingly played guinea pig to her cooking attempts. 

“Logan?” It comes out stupidly, dully, and she feels eight steps behind the conversation. “He’s supposed to call me, I’ve been waiting…”

He reaches out and grabs her wrist, fingers holding tightly. 

“I’m here.” He insists. “Isn’t that enough for you?”

Something inside her snaps. 

“No.” She pulls her hand back, jerks it out of his reach. “No, it’s not. Not anymore. I’m waiting for Logan and…”

Her voice tails off as her brain catches up with her words. She looks behind him to the parking lot empty of all cars except hers and his. 

“Why are you even here, Duncan? Are you…? Are you following me?”

He stoops down, leans in close, and his eyes are wide and earnest and desperate. 

“I’m looking out for you.” He insists fervently. “He’s not safe, Veronica, you can’t trust him.”

Disbelief and frustration surge up, pushing aside the nervousness and the fear. 

“Not this again. Leave it alone, Duncan. You left me, remember? You do remember that, yes? You didn’t even break up with me, you still haven’t if you want to know the truth. You just stopped talking to me one day. And then you spent the last six or seven months watching while all your friends treated me like dirt. Why am I supposed to listen to anything you have to say now?”

She can see it in the widening of his eyes, that all innocent look that means he’s about to deny any knowledge of guilt or blame or wrong doing on his part. She once thought it adorable and cute. 

“What were you expecting, Duncan?” And she gestures to the beach around them, the hot air and herself. “Just now? You put your arms around me as if nothing ever happened and I would what? Play along? Forget that I’m supposed to be a whore and a pariah? What?”

He pouts, not making a big show of it, just a subtle movement, the slightest little pouch of his lower lip. 

“I thought… I thought we could… you know…”

Her breath becomes too large for her throat and chest and she nearly chokes on it. 

“No, Duncan, no.” The words come out of her throat without her even thinking them and, seven months ago, even four or three or two months ago, they would have been unthinkable, would never have crossed her mind. “I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.”

He looks lost. 

“But you’re my…”

And then he stops. 

He just stops. 

She watches him, confused, her hackles raised and her mind buzzed and ready for battle, as he backs slowly away, walks up the beach for several steps before turning his back on her and trundling through the sand to his car. 

The sudden vibration against her thigh makes her jump. 

***


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If she cries, he's going to hit something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** pg-13 (but there is language here).  
>  **Spoilers:** Pre-series, but some season one stuff.   
> **Warnings:** None, not really.   
> **Disclaimer:** Oh, they’re not mine. I just take them out of their boxes, play with them, muss their hair a bit, and put ‘em back when I’m done.

*~*~*~*  
 **…TO DREAM** , chapter six.  
*~*~*~*

Veronica wakes up on Sunday morning with a light sheen of sweat sticking the sheets to her skin. 

The heat swarmed in overnight on Friday and took root on the Saturday. It’s not unheard of for California, but unusual for the time of year and people have become silly and stupid, jealously crowding the beaches and surf shops and air conditioned places like they’ve been allocated only one weekend of sun for the year. 

Her father was right. The air conditioning in the apartment leaves a lot to be desired, it’s loud and it strains, giving a random splutter every now and again with little to no result. Sometimes she thinks it’s actually heating up the place. 

She oozes out of bed and slumps her way into the kitchen, idly looking down to the check the water levels of Backup’s bowl before heading to the fridge to hydrate herself. 

He whines at her. 

“No walks.” She whines back, already sluggish and stubborn. “All walks are officially cancelled. By order of management.”

That gets her nothing but a humph and she wonders if dogs can really roll their eyes. 

“Fine. We’ll go later. Are you happy?”

The thump of a tail is her only answer. 

Logically, she knows her reluctance to start the day are hurting noone but her. She can already see the sun beating through the window slats and feel the heat seeping in through the cracks in the doors, another hour or so and the temperature outside will be uncomfortable at best. 

Standing just inside the open fridge door, she can’t quite find the energy to care. 

Her father has already gone for the day, leaving nothing but a note on the counter. She skims it briefly, taking in only the general sentiment. Have a nice day. Behave. Don’t stand in front of the open refrigerator door all day. 

She crinkles the paper inside her fist and drops it into the garbage. 

“Man, he’s getting persnickety in his old age.”

Backup thumps heartily in agreement. 

Her cell rings and she nearly trips over her own feet trying to round the kitchen bench, close the fridge door, and make it back to her room in time to answer it. And, somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knows who it is. 

There’s really only one person who would call her. 

“Hey.” Logan’s voice slips through the cell thickly. “What are your plans for the day?”

“Ice fishing.” She replies without pausing to think, falling comfortably on her bed and smiling. “And then building igloos.”

He chuckles. 

“Plural?”

“Not for me.” She explains, logically, reasonably, happily. “For the orphans.”

“Ah, I forgot about your kind and noble Eskimo outreach program. In Neptune.”

It feels slightly bizarre, to by lying back on her bed staring up at her ceiling and sharing casual jokes with none other than Logan Echolls. It feels even more off balance to know that they’re both skirting around the bigger issues. 

She shakes her head sadly to give authenticity to the disappointment in her tone. 

“Nobody cares about the Southern Californian Eskimos. It’s a shame, really.”

“Seriously.” He cuts her off, his tone becoming sharper and interested. “Do you have plans? You could come over here.”

The ease leaves her body. 

“We could hang by the pool.” He continues. “Have burgers for lunch. It’s, like, a gagillion degrees cooler over here than it is there. Proven fact.”

There are so many negatives to that suggestion. She’s still uncomfortable around Aaron. She’s not sure she wants to be alone with Logan for any length of time. And, as she’s listing all of these reasons in her head, one very stark reality comes rushing down on her. 

She doesn’t have a bathing suit. 

Not a proper one, anyway. A blush, heady and thick, rises to her cheeks as she thinks about the tiny little pink string thing tucked away in her drawer. Lilly approved, of course. She’s replaced nearly an entire wardrobe in the months since October of last year, but swim suits weren’t exactly top on her list of priorities. 

Suddenly, the thought of parading around in front of Logan in a barely there suit makes her tongue run dry and her skin break out in goose pimples. 

“Hello?” He brngs her back to the topic at hand. “Am I speaking to myself now? Veronica, say yes.”

“But…” 

She stops herself just in time. 

_Oh, no, Logan I can’t possibly come for a private swimming session with you, because I have a scandalously indiscreet bikini that covers absolutely nothing and having you ogle me all day will give me those funny feelings that I don’t really want to even think about._

She can just imagine Logan’s reaction to _that_. The brakes on the Exterra couldn’t possibly hold up under those speeds, she thinks. 

“But what?” He insists. “You can’t tell me you want to spend another day stuck in that hotbox? I’m offering you free food, a private pool, all the air conditioning you could possibly want…”

“Logan…”

“And icecream.” He wheedles suddenly; the triumph in his voice suggests he thinks this is the winning argument. “Lots and lots of icecream.”

And, damn him, he’s right. 

“Okay, gimme half an hour.”

She scissors her legs up off the bed and heads for the shower. 

***

She’s not wrong. 

Much as they’ve been nervous, her and Logan have been fairly normal all day. She hasn’t seen hide nor hair of his parents and hasn’t had to deal with that awkwardness. Logan greeted her at the door and they goofed around with video games and her mocking his pitiful DVD collection until Leticia made giant burgers crammed with cheese and ketchup and lettuce. 

But now, as she walks out of the pool house, stripped down to a suit that covers less than her underwear, Veronica can see Logan’s instant reaction. He’s quicker than her, stripping off to his boxers and diving straight into the water, he’s swimming in large, lazy, bored strokes waiting for her. 

And he stops, mouth open, for just a second.

She can see the twitch of his fingers on the surface of the water and the dilation of his pupils as he tries, and fails, not to check her out completely. 

“Hey.” But he covers quickly. “Took long enough. What were you doing in there anyway?”

_Trying to stretch the fabric…_

His legs and lower body look short and squat, rippling under the water, divided from his shoulders that stream above the surface. And he looks, strangely, like a predatory beast waiting to lure his prey in for the kill. 

“Trying to find the rest of my suit, actually…” She gestures nervously behind her to the pool house, her voice high with the effort of explaining. “I think it got lost…”

And Logan swallows, dips his head back into the water and up again. 

“Looks fine to me. Come play.”

“Seriously.” She just can’t stop explaining, she has to make him understand. She’s going to be mortified if he thinks she chose this suit just for him. “It’s the only one I had. It’s from months ago… I would have gotten another, but…”

As she speaks, he’s taken a deep breath and launched himself up over the edge of the pool and come to stand next to her. Her brain idly takes in the sight of a leaner, more muscled body than she remembered, shining in the sun with water dripping all the way down. 

“Veronica.” He says simply and without fuss, bending down to place his arms under her knees and shouldersbefore she can stop him. “Get in the damned water.” 

And then she’s flying; arms stretching out to break her fall, a futile instinctual act before she breaks the surface and the cold water slips across her skin. 

*** 

“Ugh.” Veronica falls onto her back, stretching out on the bed. “Are you trying to fatten me up for the feast?”

The ice cream sits heavy in a pit in the middle of her stomach, thick and sludgy, and it’s not mixing well with the heat that has permeated the room. Her fingers trail soothing patterns, circles and figure eights, across the taut, swollen skin of her belly. 

“Hey.” Logan protests somewhere off to the side. “You’re the one who inhaled the bowl and then stole mine as well!”

Waves of heated air waft around her, spurred into lazy movement by the ceiling fan above, tricking her skin into believing that there are cooling currents. Veronica closes her eyes and drifts, sinks into a stupor of sun and chlorine and dairy food. 

She feels the bed dip, feels the universe trip on its axis as the mattress creaks, and she keeps her eyes closed, keeps them shut so that she doesn’t follow his movements as he crawls up next to her, stretching out over his own towel. 

“See?” Even his voice is warmer, softer, lazier in the heat. “Doesn’t this beat sitting cooped up in your apartment hovering over the open freezer door?”

“Mmmm.”

She smiles her agreement, not bothering to spend the energy on words. 

The skin of her eyelids crinkle, forced shut, and she breathes in, silently counting to ten, to twenty, to fifty. It’s not like she can’t feel his eyes, he’s been watching her all day, but if she doesn’t acknowledge it, if she ignores him completely, maybe it won’t mean anything. 

Maybe the tense knotting inside her stomach that appears whenever they’re alone will go away. 

The left side of her body is alert, overheated; she can feel the heat of his skin inches from her own. Her hand is cushioning the back of her head, her arm stretched up and leaving her inner and under arm bare, straight, vulnerable. Her right hand continues making lazy patterns over her stomach. 

He’s not moving and she feels it in the tension that builds steadily. 

_don’t move, don’t move, don’t do anything, just ignore…_

Veronica gasps audibly, inhaling deeply when she feels his finger join hers on the skin of her belly. Patterns, soothing and slow, circles and figure eights, the knobs of his hand bumping gently into hers. Slowly, she exhales, relaxing, easing the pressure building. 

Her eyes clamp even tighter shut. 

His skin leaves tiny trails of fire on hers and she bites her lip, studying the fireworks of patterns going off behind her eyelids, trying not to analyze it, trying not to follow each movement of his hand. Her own hand is shaking, she can feel it, and even as she’s thinking the words, she feels his wrist dip, feels him hook it under hers, nudging her off. 

Her forearm flops inelegantly to the side, landing with a small thump on the soft quilt. 

“Veronica.”

He’s too close as he whispers her name and her eyes flick open, blinding her with sudden light, the colors that come at her. She turns to look at him and his eyes are glittering as they watch her. 

“Logan, please…”

She’s not sure what she’s going to say, _please stop…_ , _please don’t do this…_ , _please let me go…_ , but she ends up swallowing whatever it is when he leans forward and presses his lips to hers. 

Her whole body freezes, unable to move as his entire hand flattens on her belly, five fingers and a warm palm, his lips are soft and plump as he breathes through his nostrils and his other hand comes up to cup the back of her head, holding her in place. 

Soft fingers of air caress her whole body, waves and currents of movement, trying to soothe the possible eruption from the heat that surges through her. It’s too hot and too fast and too much all at once and she thinks she’s going to fall apart. 

She feels panicked and exhilarated and scared and thrilled and trapped, definitely trapped, and all she can see is the two train tracks of his eyelashes fluttering above her eyes and then, finally, when he pulls away, she feels vaguely disappointed and lonely. 

“I’m sorry.” He says it quickly, face paled. “I know you don’t… I shouldn’t…”

It’s not thought, so much as a clinical experiment as she lifts her hand from below her head and reaches out to pull him back, presses her own lips against his, and she feels the surprise in him now. Feels him give a little gasp. 

Then something changes. 

Their lips glide together, fitting one over the other, finding spaces that are unnaturally comfortable. It shouldn’t be like this, she thinks the words, even as she breathes in deeply, as she smells him. He’s covered in chlorine and sweat and something deeper, something vaguely familiar that shouldn’t be. 

Her right hand comes up to curl in the soft hair at the back of his neck, she can feel the ridges at the beginning of his spine, bone under skin, and then his tongue is licking at her lips. It’s a physical sound when she opens her mouth, him moaning, she hears it and feels it like a reverberation, rumbling through her throat and down her arms. 

The inside of his mouth tastes sticky, like vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup and she licks at his teeth, trying to remember why it’s a bad idea, why she kept telling herself not to do this. Her brain keeps trying to push a message through the barriers she’s erected, but she’s not listening. 

She feels him shift, his whole body rolling like a wave towards her and it makes her freeze, makes her body pull away with a little whimper she can’t control. 

Her fingers grip his hair tight in little fists and she pants in uncontrolled bursts, clutching her eyes shut again, while she waits for something, anything, and she can’t stop the trembling. 

“Shh.” He pulls back a little, hand disappearing from her belly and coming to land on the side of her face. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“I… I…” But the words don’t come and her throat is closing tight, choking on nothing. “I…”

“Veronica, it’s okay.” He whispers it with little kisses to her nose and chin and cheeks, her closed eyes, as his fingers hold her face firmly, supporting her. “I’m not going to do anything, okay? This is it; this is all. We can stop.”

 _Stop_. The word echoes through her like a balm. _Yes, please_.

Slowly, her muscles relax, and she can feel his hair pulling out of her grip, springing back to a natural tension in his skin, and her fingers are left to clutch and release in empty air. Her head falls back to the mattress, landing with a soft thump and she tries to take oxygen into her lungs without the burning feeling. 

There’s sweat behind her knees. 

“Veronica.” Her name has never had so many meanings as she feels him lying down on his side next to her, just her name over and over again. “Veronica.”

She can’t be here, she can’t be lying on this bed with this boy, she’s not supposed to be anywhere. This isn’t how it was meant to be. She was part of a perfect couple, once, and they were dependable and loyal and predictable. There was flowers and jewelry and kisses stolen behind closed doors and dates to movies and then there was confusion and pain and ignorance and misplaced hostility.

And then nothing but a black hole in her memory. 

She can’t be here; she can’t be lying on this bed with any boy. 

She’s a mess of fractured nerves and flashing images of stars and a pink sweater and Duncan’s hand up her thigh one night and a sickly thread of a hangover she never earned, panting hard with effort she didn’t give, her heart is pounding so fast and so hard she thinks it might explode. 

The fuse is lit by the feel of his breath on the side of her neck. 

“I have to go.” Her body jackknifes up, bending at the waist as she tries to adjust to the new position. “I can’t be here.”

***  
***

Logan sits up on his hip, watching her as she scurries off the bed, her neck snapping left and right as she scans the room looking for her things. He watches her pick up her shirt and find her shoes, sliding her right foot and then her left into them, watches as she rushes to her bag and fiddles with the contents before hefting it up to her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” She sounds close to crying as she stands still, having nothing left to gather and nothing to distract her. “I’m so…”

He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the image.

“No, don’t be.” He keeps his movements slow and doesn’t take his eyes off her as he slides to the edge of the bed and stands up. “Are you okay?”

It looks like she’s trying to say yes, but her throat wobbles, struggles with it, and she just ends up nodding instead. Her right hand lifts up next to her face and he can see how much she’s still trembling as it hovers next to her ear, as if she’d been planning on fixing her hair, but forgot half way through the act. 

If she cries, he’s going to hit something. 

“Look…” 

It doesn’t matter what he’s going to say, he’s not even sure, because her head swivels to the bar near the door and she practically swoops down on the bowls he’d left there earlier. 

“They have to go back!” She says it like it’s a lifeline. “I’ll take them.”

They rattle, china against china, when she picks them up. 

“Veronica, leave them.” But he knows she won’t listen. “You don’t have to…”

“Nonsense.”

She’s already halfway out the door.

He has no choice but to slip on his own shoes and follow her. She’s buzzing, her frantic energy multiplying as he watches. It’s like she has to move, because stopping is unthinkable, painful beyond measure, her limbs jerk. 

She’s like a horse, held back in the stalls, muscles rippling for the want of freedom. 

They barrel through the glass doors, in the middle of the afternoon, creating sound and chaos in a previously calm arena. He sees his mother’s head perk up from a magazine and a clinking tumbler and his father frown as he’s distracted from the latest manuscript. They’re back early. 

Logan’s mouth goes dry and he reaches for Veronica without thinking, tries to catch her hip to steady her, to slow her down to something resembling peaceful and unobtrusive. But his fingers slide through empty air and he looks over to where she’s already standing in front of the sink. 

“Veronica.” He tries again, sliding in next to her to keep his voice hushed and quiet. “You don’t have to…”

Water gushes from the taps, creating billows of instant steam in her face. 

“Do you have detergent?” Her voice is still shaking as she leans back, eying the surrounding cupboards. “You have to have detergent, who doesn’t have…?”

He doesn’t know what to do and her panic seems to be building inside of him. 

“Veronica, what are you doing?” Thankfully someone does and Mrs. Navarro appears out of nowhere, bustling in between Veronica and the sink, squeezing her out with wide hips. “This is my job, are you trying to put me out of work? Go.”

She makes giant sweeping motions with her hands.

“Go on.” Her voice is warm and friendly, but firm enough not to invite questions. “Shoo. Get out of here, both of you.”

Veronica lets herself be led away, nervous and lost and seemingly unable to focus on anything to do. She doesn’t fight his hand on the curve of her hip, gently guiding her towards the front door as she bites her lip even further. 

She does flinch, physically drawing back, when his mother calls her name. 

“Veronica, Dear.” They’re both stuck, deer in the headlights, as Lynn smiles. “It’s nice to see you again. We’ve missed you.”

He’s focused intently on Veronica, on getting her out of there as soon as possible, away from his parents and the heady atmosphere of his house, the people in it, and also the faint, lingering traces of them kissing, but he still sees it. Years of practice means he notices Lynn’s propriety eyes gliding over his hand sitting on Veronica’s hip, the way she takes in Veronica’s nerves and apparent unease, the curve of her lip. 

And he hears countless repetitions of _Logan, Veronica is such a nice girl…_

“Thanks.” Veronica nods her head, automatically, feebly. “You too, Mrs. Echolls.”

Logan glares at his mother, a distinct _Not Now!_ , and ushers Veronica out towards the door. 

It’s like breaking the skin of a blister. Walking from inside the temperature controlled enclosure of his house outside into this physical wall of heat, even the sections outdoors next to his pool are automatically cooler from the water. 

There are so many things he wants to say and he has no idea how to say them, how to formulate words around them. 

He’s never seen her like this.

Somewhere in the back of his brain, some deep, dark place he doesn’t really want to examine, he knows he’s tried to get her there. He would have paid good money to know the quickest route to break her so completely, but now that she’s here, now that she’s flailing and weak and vulnerable and _scared_ in front of him, he feels nothing but hot, boiling rage. 

It eddies and swirls just underneath his surface, familiar and unwelcome. 

Veronica Mars stands tall amid a schoolyard full of crippling taunts and bloody, vicious accusations. She takes every battering with a cheerful grin and then offers some wiseass remark in turn. She bends, but she never breaks, no matter what they throw at her.

“Are you okay to drive?” 

The words sound too loud and awkward in the silence of the late afternoon. 

Veronica’s eyes fly to him, wide and surprised and pleading for something. 

“Yeah. Yes.” She nods. “Of course.”

Her fingers twitch on the strap of her bag and he’s not sure if he believes her. 

They get to her car and he cups her elbow, softly running his hand up her arm. It makes her shiver a little and it looks out of place in the swelter that threatens to decimate them both. He can’t breathe past the image of her smiling, relaxed, on the bed next to him. 

And then the instant it all changed. 

He wants that back, that moment when she trusted him, so that he can do it again, so he doesn’t push in like a raging bull and shatter everything he’s been trying to build for the last few weeks. 

“I’m sorry.” And he means it as he looks down at her upturned face. “Veronica, I’m really sorry.”

He’s sorry, because he knew. Because she told him time and time again she wasn’t ready. In the back of his head, he knows what happened and it galls him, but it’s never been prevalent in the way they’ve acted around each other, she’s never let it be.

And he’s sorry for being so ego centric as to believe all her hesitance and her attempts to push him away had to do with him being him, Logan Echolls, for assuming that all her problems with the two of them were from the stupid stuff he’d done and said. 

He’s sorry for not realizing what should have been painfully obvious. 

“Logan.” Her brow crinkles in the middle, a soft little furrow of honest confusion. “Please don’t think I’m running from you.”

He can’t move as she grabs the back of his arms, pulling herself up on her toes, and her face is wide and disbelieving as she leans up to place a light, chaste kiss in the corner of his mouth. She blushes, furious red, as she steps back down and the expression on her face clearly announces that she can’t believe she just did it. 

She steps, shakily, inside her car and he lets her go before he does something completely stupid like grab her and pull her back, because he doesn’t think his emotions are anywhere near gentle right now. 

As the car drives, tires crunching pristine gravel in her wake, Logan’s fingers clench hard. 

She is soft and she is beautiful and he can’t stop thinking about her body on his bed, warm and dulled from heat, relaxed and happy. He has, for some time now, known that he wants her. Even when he thought he hated her, he knew she was attractive. 

What surprises him is the surge of pure fury, of rock solid possessiveness, of demand when he thinks about her lying next to him. 

She is soft and she is beautiful and she is still broken. 

And it’s not an accident. 

Someone did that to her and he is going to find out who and make them pay. 

***

Logan slams the glass door hard. 

He almost doesn’t want to return to the pool house, it would be easier if he could forget, but he’s drawn to it. Like a kid picking at scabs on his knee, he wants to go back and picture every painful moment, catalogue it. 

Their towels, damp and smelling of sun and chlorine, are still stretched out on the bed. They probably still have faint impressions of their bodies creased into rapidly drying shapes. He wants to see hers. He wants to remember her, warm and silken, before she panicked. 

“Hello, Son.” His eyes snap up to see his father standing awkwardly by the shelves at the top of the bed. “I was just getting… something.”

Logan nods, glancing idly at the small, black rectangle his father slips into his pocket. For a long time, he has considered this his pool house, the domain of he and Lilly and Duncan and Veronica, a place to hold parties and have friends come play computer games, but it still holds a lot of Aaron Echolls memorabilia. 

It is, as everything in this house, a dedication to the much-loved man, the gleam in the public eye. 

Whatever trinket Aaron feels necessary to impress whichever fawning agent, Logan doesn’t care. 

“Yeah.” He nods slowly, distantly, his brain firing up a neuron or two. “Okay.”

“Yes, well then.” Aaron stands still, his empty hands brushing down the sides of his pants. “I haven’t seen Veronica in a while. She seemed a bit skittish. Is she…?”

Logan frowns at the solicitation in his father’s voice, but doesn’t react any further. He needs this man on side right now. 

“She’s had it tough, since, you know...” The soft insinuation, the not quite reference makes Aaron nod in an almost humorously sympathetic manner. Logan wants to spit. “But I think we’re managing.”

He watches his father flounder, searching mid air for a subject, anything, to talk to his son. 

“Okay.” Aaron announces after a long pause. “I should be going, then.”

Logan watches him walk to the door and waits until his back is turned. 

“Oh, hey, dad?” The sudden amicability in his voice piques Aaron’s interest. “I need a favor.”

It’s strange, that this man’s most obvious weakness is his family, his need to appease and conciliate, to appear cohesive, if not actually be it. Logan thinks it’s hysterical on a grand scale. Hysterical, hypocritical, po-tay-to, po-tah-toe. 

“A favor?” Aaron tastes the word on his tongue, his eyes calculating the gain for effort ratio. “What kind of favor are we talking about?”

Logan scratches the back of his neck and gives a guilty little shit eating grin. Man to man. 

“Seems I’m on the outs a bit at school. I need a boost in the polls.”

“Ah.” Aaron nods, because he understands misbehavior, the turning of the tide. “Like that is it? What are we talking about? An appearance?”

Logan wrinkles his forehead. 

“Bigger.” He holds his breath for the expected amount of time and then releases it. “I think party big.”

“Party?” 

His father’s eyebrows skyrocket. 

“Neptune A-list.” Logan confirms. “This decade’s ‘Must-Attend’. All out, no holes barred, kinda thing.”

Aaron fingers his chin, pretending to consider it, but Logan can see the glitter in the back of the man’s eyes, the growing greed, and the interest. In their current social circles, disregarding Hollywood of course, grand gatherings have remained low key, sedate affairs. Quite and polite and respectful. 

The possibility of hosting the first big party since Lilly Kane’s death has grabbed Aaron’s attention whoring interest. 

“We’ll see.” His father nods. “I think your mother might be talked into it easily enough.”

Logan smiles, insincerity coating his teeth and sticking to the back of his throat. 

“One last thing?” He keeps the interest subtle, because giving away his hand this early, especially to this man, is nothing but a bad idea. “I’ll need to scratch ten names off the guest list.”

Aaron chuckles. 

“Only ten?” 

Then he disappears, backing out of the door with renewed vigor, a project already taking form in his mind. Logan turns back to the suddenly empty pool house and smiles to himself. Ten names that, in crude terms, pretty much makes Neptune High’s A-List if you strike out Echolls. 

_Kane, Sinclair, Enbom, Casablancas, Pomroy, Moore, Gant, Crawford, Day and Bishop._

The first step in infiltrating an enemy is misdirection. Make them come to you. 

He wonders who will be the first to crack. 

***


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is that what we do now? Kiss?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Rating:** pg-13 (but there is language here).  
>  **Spoilers:** Pre-series, but some season one stuff.   
> **Warnings:** None, not really.   
> **Disclaimer:** Oh, they’re not mine. I just take them out of their boxes, play with them, muss their hair a bit, and put ‘em back when I’m done.

*~*~*~*  
 **…TO DREAM, chapter seven.**  
*~*~*~*

She pulls up to the school parking lot with a strange feeling of hope and dread. 

It’s her first day back and there’s going to be some new fresh hell waiting for her, she’s sure of it, they won’t let her absence go unpunished. She can feel the prickle of eyes following her every movement as she slides her key out of the ignition and reaches blindly for her bag. 

Paranoia or observation, she’s not sure which. 

Not that it could get much worse than the week before, but they’ve had a few days to perfect their little schemes and that’s never good. She feels tense and taut, like she’s waiting in the eye of a storm. 

Veronica jumps inches, knocking her knee against the wheel when her passenger door opens and someone flops down into the seat. 

But it’s not all bad. 

“Hey.”

If she didn’t know any better, she would say that Logan’s smile was shy. 

“Hey yourself.”

Hers too, maybe. 

They smile together and then look down, she eyes the floor between her feet, the spaces between the pedals, and mentally calculates the time before a car mat is necessary, lines it up with expenditures and incomes and priorities and… 

A warm hand slides over hers resting on the console between them. 

It’s awkward, slightly. 

“Veronica….” At the same time as “Logan…”

And then they’re both quiet. 

“I had a good time yesterday.” She offers, eventually, because something has to be said. “I really did.”

A hopeful glint sparks in his eye, his smile becoming a little more genuine and his fingers lace with hers, push into them, knuckles bending over knuckles, and he tugs her hand over, closer to him. She lets it follow, doesn’t fight it. 

“Yeah.” He agrees with a hint of deviousness dipping his eyebrows and raising the corner of his mouth. “Me, too.”

It makes her blush and her skin buzz, her mouth feels a little dry and she thinks, for a brief second, _Screw this, let’s go back to your house and make out again!_. The suddenness of it, the complete surprise of such a desperately sexual thought makes her giggle, eases the tension right out of her. 

And so she leans a little, shifts in her seat, and pecks him on the cheek just to watch his eyes widen. 

“We have class.”

He flounders for a second, mouth open and then his face splits into a real grin. 

“You ready?”

Her fingers tighten in his, a tiny spasm. Unmissable. 

“Not in the slightest. Let’s go.”

He looks at her carefully, his gaze traveling up and down, and she feels herself shrink, wonders at the test he’s putting her through and if she will pass. 

“Okay.” He finally nods. “But you wait there. Don’t move.”

And he scurries out of the car, shutting the door carelessly, scrambling around the hood before sweeping his arm in a dramatic gesture in front of her door and opening it. He waves her out, swishing the air in front of the door and leaning forward in a little bow. 

She laughs and steps out, twisting herself only slightly to fit around him. 

He waits until she’s nearly all the way past before stepping forward, before backing her into the metal of the car and her breath catches in her throat, her body going still. 

“Relax.” He breathes it just next to her cheek and then shifts his jaw to place a peck to mirror hers, his lips full and soft in the fuzz of her cheek. “We’re going slow.”

The air is remarkably cooler when he steps back and she doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or not. But she does know one thing, so she reaches out and catches his wrist before he can begin the trek into the school grounds. 

“Logan, wait…” Her breath catches and she doesn’t know how to say it. “We should be careful… I mean…”

His eyes cloud over a little and his head quirks to the right. 

“Careful? What do you mean, careful?”

She flashes back to the beach and the feel of something icky threading through her nerves when Duncan’s eyes flashed over Logan’s name. 

“Maybe…” The words catch on her tongue and she has to be careful, delicate, aware. “Maybe we shouldn’t be so eager to flaunt this, I…”

He softens, muscles relaxing, and his fingers curl into hers again, pulling her closer to him. She follows, relents, allows him to use his free hand to play with the edges of her hair, a quick, soft brush against her face and his mouth inches from hers.

“I won’t let them hurt you.”

She wishes they were there already, that they were the sort of couple that kissed carelessly and hungrily and didn’t have a history of torment between them. She’s impatient for it. 

“Yeah.”

And she tries to make it sound convincing, tries to hide the doubt in her voice. He can’t stop it, he’s already tried and failed spectacularly and, while he was the ringleader of her previous torture, he has no real idea of the absolute sadism of teenagers on a mission of destruction. 

They will find ways and they will be devastating and neither she nor Logan will have any control. She is confident in her experiences of ignoring the masses, her ability to let it brush off her like water off a duck’s back. At least in public. No one needs to know what happens behind her closed door. 

But Logan… Logan is fire and unrestrained passion and anger and he works off instantaneous reaction. There is a limit to how much he can take before he explodes and Veronica suspects that his fuse will be short today. 

He tilts his head and looks at her quizzically, eyes narrow and shrewd. 

“There’s something…” A spark of realization lights his face. “You know something. Someone’s already… who? Who was it? What did they say?”

It’s tempting, too tempting, and she could so easily tell him. Your best friend is a crazy lunatic who creates his own realities in which I forgive him and we make out on the beach while he threatens you. Yeah, that would go down well. 

She is and isn’t afraid of Logan’s reaction. She knows and almost wants Logan to storm right up to Duncan and make it public and known and draw the line of acceptable behavior, she wants him to keep Duncan in line, keep him away, sort out the problem for her. 

But she’s afraid of it, too, because she has a plan and she needs to keep Duncan on side. She needs to be able to talk to him, preferably in a crowded, public place in full daylight, without raising his suspicions. 

He is her one link to that night at Shelley’s, the one person left in the full circle of 09ers who will speak to her, who can find out secrets. 

And, if it’s the very last thing she does, Veronica will find out the truth of that night and move on. 

She’s impatient to be that couple. 

“I want to take it slow.” It’s not a lie, not really, and she might just burn in hell for adding the vulnerable catch in her throat that makes his face soften. “I… I need to take it slow… and….”

Logan pulls her hand up to kiss the edges of her knuckles. 

“Whatever you want.”

They drop hands and walk towards the school together. Not touching. Apart. 

She is guilty. 

***

She walks on eggshells and she thinks maybe the worst part of it isn’t seeing the sidelong glances thrown her way, the part in the middle of the hallway, like she’s surrounded by an invisible force field. The worst part is the waiting. 

All through first period, second, third, all the way up to lunch she checks where she’s walking and what she’s walking into, she’s hyper aware of everything she touches and opens and reads, she watches the words she says and the people she says them to. 

And still nothing. 

Expectation makes her skittish and stupid. Her entire day is paranoid and ugly. In another world, she might suspect this as their plan all along, a devious prank of sadism, but that’s giving them too much credit and she’s not willing to go that far. 

It exhausts her until all she wants to do is go home and curl up into a ball with a pedestal fan blowing tepid air over her skin. 

“Hey.” Logan meets her at her locker before lunch, surprisingly cheerful and energetic. “How’s it going?”

Her fingers curl around the open door of her locker, frustration and anxiety and exhaustion, she wants to beg him not to play that part, to act that role, but then she doesn’t have the heart to criticize his happiness, even if it is for show. 

“I’m okay.”

It’s a blatant lie and she thinks the slight narrowing in the corners of his eyes knows it. 

Her eyes catch the frustrated gesture his hands make, a slight shake, and she has a sudden moment of panic, of _knowing_ that he’s going to touch her. Images assault her memory, countless memories she’d thought lost forever, casual afternoons and Logan forever and always stroking Lilly in some fashion. He’s a touchy boyfriend… her brain skips on the word… is that what he is now? Is that what they are? What is she doing?

But he doesn’t and she realizes the frustration is because he wants to and knows he can’t. He’s smarter than that, knows she’s not ready for it here in the halls, in full view of everyone. 

Knows he pushed too far the day before. 

“What do you want for lunch?”

Food, the great distraction, the equalizer.

“I’m not…” Her stomach eddies at the very thought. “I’m not hungry, I can’t eat… I’ll just get something from the caf…”

But he stops her with a roll of his eyes and the flick of his thumb over his cell. 

“Like hell you will.”

He orders pizza because, as he explains it, she can pick at it if she’s not really hungry, but she can eat it if she changes her mind. It’s a win win solution. She’s more amused by the fact he ordered without asking and still got it mostly right. He left onions on her side, but she can mostly pick them out, and she’s more than a little confused that the fact he doesn’t remember her totally is a comfort. 

She likes that he’s going to have to put in effort to really know her again. 

True to her word, she doesn’t eat much, she really couldn’t stomach solid food amidst the turmoil right now, but she picks bits off the top and chews them slowly. The conversation is awkward and stilted and it’s never been more obvious where the divide lies. 

He’s a pretend outcast and she’s the real thing. He has been shunned for a temporary transgression and as soon as he admits it and goes back to shunning her, it will be all over. She can see it in the way they watch him, a pack eyeing off their errant leader. The quiet whispering, the nudging, a stray half nod in his direction. 

They’re already building bridges and she can’t shake the feeling that he’ll be tempted. 

There’s nothing temporary about rotten food stuffed in her exhaust, broken windows and slashed tires, the dog shit heaped on her doorstep. Nobody’s building anything for her sake. They circle wide, watching, waiting for the moment to strike, they’re in a holding pattern…

That’s when it hits her. 

A holding pattern has to have an instigator. She looks around, but it’s a futile gesture, there’s no one in the school yard that would even consider holding them off. Nobody except the boy in front of her. She looks him in the eye. 

“What did you do?”

His eyes widen and he chokes on the mouthful of pizza he’s eating. 

“What?”

A cold shiver of dread runs up her spine, tap dances along her nerves. 

“What did you say to them?”

She doesn’t elaborate and he doesn’t really need her to, she can see it in the way he eyes the rest of the yard, calculating, sizing up the situation. Leader of the pack taking measure, looking for a weakness, a fault, and they back down, heads falling to their tables and conversations picked up where they were left off. 

He’s lying to her, playing innocent, and it’s instant that panic, that oxygen sucking knowledge that he’s gone behind her back to collude with them again. 

“Veronica.” He tries again once he’s swallowed the mouthful. “I haven’t said anything to…”

“Bullshit.” Her hand shakes as she reaches for her water bottle, fumbles with it before finally grasping hold. “You’re lying.”

She stands and the shaking floods her entire body, her knees wobble and her brain shorts out. He wore her down, she should have waited longer, should have known he’d do it, he’d done it before, led her along and then left her high and dry. 

It’s going to hurt, they won’t need to do much to fully tear her apart this time. 

“Hey.” But then he’s there, standing next to her with his hand on her elbow, a gentle support and soft voice. “Hey, relax, ok? Sit down. I’m not…”

It’s strange how the sound of his voice so close to her ear both terrifies and comforts her all at once. She wants him to be that boy on the bed yesterday, but she can’t forget the boy who tormented her so cruelly. She lets herself be pulled back down to sitting and thinks it’s worth the risk. 

If he’s going to pull the rug out from under her, she’d rather he do it straight away anyway. 

“I’m not going behind your back.” He says firmly, stubbornly. “I told you I’d take care of them and I am. Okay?”

She wants to believe him badly, which is probably why she does. 

Her breathing returns to normal and her vision clears, which is when she becomes increasingly aware of his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand and the heat it’s producing as he does it. 

“I’m not going to hurt you again.” The words sound gritted out, he’s said them so often lately, but she doesn’t think there’s a limit, not really. “I promise, okay?”

When she doesn’t answer straight away, he gives her hand a little jiggle, trying to make her look at him. His voice has risen several notches to pleading and insecure. 

“Okay?”

She looks back down at their hands, at his larger one covering hers and knows that without a doubt he could hurt her, could hurt her well beyond anything that has happened yet. 

“Yes.” It’s a whisper, soft and unsure and just a little bit afraid. “Okay.”

The tension melts out of him instantly, relief at the validation, and his smile this time is more genuine. 

“But I still have to go.” This time when she stands up and grabs her bag, her feet are steady and the ground doesn’t spin. “You wouldn’t believe how much catch-up there is after a few days.”

His head leans a little bit, eye twinkling. 

“You coming over later?”

She pauses. It’s a loaded question. His house is too big and full of memories and she’s fairly sure that being a weekday his parents will be there. She doesn’t want to face Aaron any more than she has to. 

“How ‘bout you come over my place, instead? I have to walk Backup.”

He accepts this without question, readily agreeing to the proposal and she figures he’s just grateful it’s there at all. 

But he’s still lying. 

As she walks back into the building, Veronica knows that Logan flat out lied when he said he wasn’t going behind her back, he exhibited all of the classic tell tale signs. But she also knows that he was speaking the truth when he said he wasn’t out to hurt her.

In what seems like a million years ago, that’s exactly what he would have done. Had someone threatened anyone in their group, Logan would have taken it into his own hands and made the problem disappear. 

It feels strange to trust a liar. 

***

The upside to having tiny little hands is that working with a miniature screw driver isn’t as difficult as it might be otherwise. 

Her desk is set out like a workbench, everything important covered and her tools out in front of her. In theory, once she has attached the listening devices to their camouflage, all the pieces should slide back together seamlessly, without any sign she was there in the first place. 

There are many places on everyday objects that can effectively hide a bug. Veronica has chosen the least common items she can find and they suit her purpose perfectly. 

This part of the game is still new to her. She has spent many an afternoon with her dad learning the fine arts of private investigation, but has yet to put it all into personal, practical use. There are sure to be mistakes and she wishes she could avoid them altogether, but that’s half the fun. 

Of course, complete and utter success is the main goal and she does hope she gets it right this time. 

Her last avenue of hope, keeping Duncan on side, has been weakening all day. More than once she caught him watching her and it makes her wonder if he's been doing it for a while and she's only now noticing how much because she's hyper aware of his actions. It's pretty hard not to notice the large owl eyes boring into her from across the hall, the almost blank stare across the yard. 

And each and every time that crawling on her skin, the slight trickling of unease and fear. It's a horrid feeling, that knowledge of exactly how fast a coin can spin. It seems unbelievable that he was once a pleasant, devoted, perfect prince charming of a boyfriend, the boy whose name she used to write inside large pink hearts, the gentle and shy kisses he gave her when no one was looking. 

It makes her re-examine her memories, looking for some hint, some sign of it. Any inkling of the future menace that now drenches her every moment with him. Every time she leant against him, with her back to his chest and his arms around her, did he have to control himself to stop a cloying, smothering hold that was a little too tight? Had he ever had to hold back a threat as she innocently stumbled through their dates? What had she not noticed in her blindness back then?

Either way, what it boils down to is the fact if he keeps it up, she doubts she can ask him about that night at Shelley's, doubts the information she would get off him, if any. And the sinking knowledge that she can't really go to Logan in all this, because Logan's stretched very thin and she knows he would do something he'd regret later on. 

Her plan has changed drastically. 

She’s going to be a fly on the wall. She needs to be. She’s going to start stirring a lot of interesting conversations behind closed doors. And none of the people involved will talk to her openly about anything. Of course, they may not even know what they’re talking about. 

One of the earliest lessons her father taught her was that if you get people talking, they will reveal things they had subconsciously noticed or didn’t know were important to the subject, often that they had disregarded as inconsequential.

A knock on the door coupled with a lack of a warning growl signals Logan’s appearance and she quickly pulls a cloth over her work before answering the door. 

She can keep secrets, too. 

***  
***

Logan’s breath catches in his throat as he waits for Veronica to open her door. 

It’s the first time he’s going to be alone with her since the day before and he hadn’t realized until now just how nervous that idea makes him. He’s fairly sure they’re dating, but though they’ve both laid down the edict that they’re taking things slowly, neither of them has said out loud exactly what’s happening or what they’re doing. 

He wants to kiss her again, he wants to hold her and call her girlfriend and buy her presents just for the sake of it and not for guilt. He wants to do all this, but knows it’s not entirely welcome yet. 

“Hi.”

She welcomes him with a smile and a blush and he’s gratified to realize she’s just as nervous as he is. 

“Hi.”

Standing just inside her door, nervously waiting for her to begin the conversation, to set the tone of their interaction, Logan remembers exactly why they’d been at his house the day before. 

The heat is already making his back sweaty, to say nothing of his pits, and he would love nothing more than to jump back in his Xterra and speed all the way to his house and into some air-conditioned comfort, but he’s not stupid and he knows why she suggested her place. 

“Wow.” She breathes. “We’re just a big ball of awkward, aren’t we?”

He laughs, because it’s exactly what he was thinking and knows that they were both also thinking that, out of everything they have been to each other, awkward was never part of it. 

There’s nothing to do, he decides, but be perfectly honest. 

“I wanted to kiss you today.” 

Her mouth falls slack and her eyes blink, the only movement for a second or two, but ifthe glint in her eyes and the pleased blush that begins to spread over her cheeks is any indication, it was the right thing to say. And he’s never been one to do things half way. 

“I wanted to kiss you a lot.”

“Logan.” But it’s only half a chide, the rest a giggle before she breathes in and steps closer. “Is that what we do now? Kiss?”

He grins. 

“A lot.”

She laughs again, a wonderfully light sound. And then the air between them breathes easier, the tension disappearing as they smile again, shared humor. 

“I really like you.” He bites the bullet and starts the conversation. “And I want us to try dating, however that works, even if you’re never ready to tell anyone else.”

Her face falls slightly, a drop in the levity, and he sees the cloud form in the back of her eyes. 

“Logan… I can’t…” Her top teeth nervously begin to nibble at her bottom lip before she inhales. “I’m not Lilly.”

He blinks. 

“What?”

And she shakes her head, hands twisting in front of her, Logan can see the pull inside her, the reluctance to bring the name into the conversation fighting desperately with the need to get her point across. 

“I mean, Lilly used to talk a lot. A _lot_. So, I know that you… and she…” 

A spark goes off inside his head, the warm spread of understanding, but before he can say anything, she’s barreling on. 

“And I guess you and Caitlin were… doing things. So, I know you’re used to… things, but I don’t know if I’m ready… and…”

He smiles and steps towards her, reaching out to capture her face in his hands. 

“Veronica, I want to date you. Not Lilly, not Caitlin, not any other girl. You.” Slowly, with enough time if she wants to pull back, he leans forward to kiss the end of her nose. “And if that means we never even get to kiss again, well…”

He shrugs with an offhand glance to the side, even as her eyebrow rises. 

“Well.” He corrects dramatically. “Just so you know, I’ll probably end up crying myself to sleep every night if that happens. But I will manage.”

With a quick, decisive little nod, she’s smiling again, and the doubt in her eyes has been replaced by a teasing spark. 

“Oh.” A little push and she’s standing on tip toes, cheeks pushing into his hands. “Can’t have that, then, can we?”

She presses her mouth to his. A soft, closed mouth, precious little kiss that is more innocent than anything he can remember. It makes him smile, a rise of his lips against her mouth when she doesn’t pull away, keeps her face close to his. 

“Well, that’s nice.”

He can feel her breathe against him, a puff of air, and the color in her cheeks seems brighter, deeper this close up. 

“Mm?”

It’s not even a question so much as a predatory purr of satisfaction in her throat and that thought makes him tremble. What he wants, what he wants quite desperately is to grab her shoulders and just kiss her, really press up against her and pour everything into it. 

But he doesn’t, he can’t, not yet. 

He stays reasonably still and lets her push forward, a little more brazen as she kisses again, ever so lightly as his hands fall to her shoulders and skim down her arms. 

She’s a quick learner, she always has been, and he feels the tension completely fall away from her body as she gets the idea, takes control. She pushes him back against the bench and leans in closer, he can feel her knees and stomach against his and it only leaves him desperate for more. 

And then her mouth, harder than before, a proper kiss, and his lips open obediently. 

He wants to hold her down and kiss her all over, asking _Is this okay?_ after each one, _And this? And this?_ , but restraint holds him still and he lets her kiss him, lets her test the boundaries. Her tongue is soft and hesitant, pushing through like she's checking his mouth for the heat of chillis. But she's sweet, everything about her is sweet as she leans even further against him. 

The slowness of it is killing him, pure torture, made even worse by the knowledge that it's all empty build up. The small, soft hand cupping his hip won't push any further, the slightest little sucking motion of her mouth isn't going to latch itself on his neck or ear, there's certainly no chance of his hands and mouth travelling anywhere new. 

But it's a torture, a frustration he's more than willing to go through because he can see the results in front of him when she pulls back. A deep flush, the pleasure of accomplishment that shines in the back of her eyes and an all too addictive expression of gratitude and understanding on her face. 

Veronica is a bright girl and he knows in that instant that she is only too aware of what he's doing and why. 

It's not something Logan's really used to. That acknowledgement of the samller things, the concessions and efforts he makes. He's too used to people taking and expecting and taking more, only giving back in small, tantalizing doses designed to keep him hooked. 

"I think." Veronica nods, all faux seriousness. "We can safely say I'm comfortable with the kissing."

Logan shuffles his shoulders dramatically, dropping them in exaggerated relief. 

"Oh, good." 

But it's a flimsy, tenuous relief, because they both know there's a world of difference between one or two carefully controlled kisses as he silently promises not to move and the casual, spontaneous soul consuming passionate kisses that get out of control easily and quickly. The kind that he suspects can and will happen too easily between a couple with the sort of chemistry he's felt flare up between them. 

It's such a delicate balance, that yearing and waning to go forward and the reality of being held back. She's too afraid to lose control, over herself and the situation in general, and he's too afraid of pushing her too far too fast and causing further damage. 

The air between them shimmies and undulates with awkwardness resettling between them, the sudden awareness of each other and the pressure to create a comfortableness that isn't there already. 

"Hey." He perks up, not entirely feeling it but faking for her sake as he reaches for the hangers near the door and grabbing the leash. "Why don't we go for that...?"

"Logan, no!"

But it's too late. 

"...walk?"

The dog is up and on him before he even finishes and as he goes down in a tangle of limbs and furry paws, saliva and eager woofs of excitement. He catches her concerned look melting into amusement and giggles as he valiantly fights the eight tons of warm panting dog on top of him, his stomach contracts with being winded, lungs spasming momentarily before he can catch his breath. 

"Backup!" She's there before he has a chance to complain, to ask for help. "Chill."

The command has little to no bite and even the dog knows it as he stumbles off Logan with a barely restrained humph of annoyance, tail thumping even as he stands as still as he can, impatience visible and burning in the little doggy eyes that watch Logan and the leash in his hands. 

"Wow." He recovers pushing himself up off the floor. "I didn't know you kept feral animals here... Oh, lovely."

Brushing himself down, his hand comes into a large wet patch where they'd bumped into the dog's water dish. Veronica's chin pushes up in defiance as she steps closer to her dog and leans down to pat him, hand brushing the top of his head. 

"Backup's not feral, thank you very much. You just have to learn not to pick up the leash or say the 'w' word without proper preparation. Any fool knows that." Amusement is warring with concern in her eyes. "Seriously, though, you ok?"

"Yeah." And as she continues to fuss over the pooch, Logan makes his way to the bathroom. "I'll just get a towel or... something."

She barely responds, already cooing to the dog, and Logan suspects he may have to work harder than usual to get her attention when the animal is around. Fair enough. He can do that. He brushes the damp patch with a spare towel he finds in the bathroom, a little threadbare and fading fast. 

"Ugh." She says when he steps back into the hall. "Don't use that. It's Backup's bathtowel."

At what he assumes is his look of utter horror, she begins laughing again. 

"Suck it up, Princess, it's just water. It'll dry. Throw that thing in my room and let's go."

He does just that, opening her door and tossing the towel in the general direction of her bed. It catches the edge of a cloth on her table and pulls the entire thing down. He grimaces, checks back to see she's not even looking and then pulls the entire thing back up, fussing about until it looks undisturbed. 

"Ok." He announces with a flourish, returning to the main room. "I'm ready."

Veronica merely rolls her eyes. 

"Finally."

***

The beach seems to be just what they need. 

He watches her knees for some reason, knobbly bumps under her shorts as she trudges through the sand. Behind them are spaces of delicate white skin lacking the healthy tan of the rest of her, it looks vulnerable and open. 

She throws a tennis ball and Backup is only too happy to run to fetch it, body shivering with the joy of freedom and release. Logan's addition to the ritual does nothing but add fuel to Backup's excitement and the dog runs back and forth between them, seemingly undecided with who he really wants to be with. 

It makes him laugh, this dopey loping creature that he knows can be a finely tuned, carefully aimed weapon when needed. 

"He's showing off." 

Veronica's voice is warm and relaxed and he likes it like that, wants to keep her that way, needs to do everything he can to stop the shitstorm he knows is brewing at school. He can't stop himself reaching up and touching the crook of her arm, just to feel the warmth in her skin he hears in her voice. 

She stops for a second, completely still, but relaxes quickly and even shoots him a smile. 

They're circling like sharks, he doesn't even need to know their plans to know this. He can feel the ripples they leave behind. She's not stupid, either, he knows she's expecting something. And he wants to save her from it, from any more hurtful, cruel pranks. 

And that's why he had to lie to her. 

Already his plan is coming to fruition. Dick, ever the social ambassador had already come to him in the hall to ask him in a quiet whisper what this party was all about and _Dude, what the hell?_ why his parents were already fuming over the social slight of not being invited. 

Dick doesn't care about the hierarchy, but others do and they stay away, but their confrontations will come, Logan knows it, sooner or later. Give it enough time, let the pot stir a little. 

When he has them really salivating at the bit, he'll ask the tough questions and he'll get his answers and he'll most likely kill some of them for it, but then he'll know and Veronica will finally be able to heal. 

For now, though, he doesn't want her involved in the seedy side of it. 

She shrieks when he suddenly feints to the right, wraps his arms around her waist and carries her to the waves, struggling good naturedly in his grasp at the threat of being dropped. 

***  
***

Her dog growls at him the closer he gets and something about that niggles at him. 

Duncan's never seen her dog growl at Logan. 

He watched them on the beach for an hour, the dog playing with a ball and Logan playing dangerous games with Veronica. Red threaded his vision every time Logan touched her. She doesn't encourage physical touch, not anymore, Duncan knows it. Which means... 

He can't even think about the end of that sentence and his rage seethes slowly and surely, heat spreading behind his ear lobes until he watches Logan say goodbye and leave her on the beach. 

Veronica turns to see him before he's close enough to speak and he sees the flash of fear shiver across her face underneath the annoyance, but she hides it quickly, pulls her face into a mask of disinterest and impatience. 

"Boy." He says coolly, unable to stop himself or the harsh words that make her wince. "You two sure looked close."

Her entire body stays still, save for her right wrist, which twists the dog's leash around and around, serving the dual purpose of bringing it more tighly under control, but also closer. 

"Really?" Her recovery is flawless. "And what is it you think you saw? Two people walking a dog? Wow, incriminating."

He doesn't even acknowledge that statement. 

"You know, I expected better from you, Veronica, but Logan doesn't surprise me. His word usually doesn't mean much."

"You would say that about your own friend?"

The look of distance is genuine, but he is eagle eyed enough to catch the minute narrowing of her eyes, that catch of doubt, the tiniest little sliver that is enough for him. He only needs to bury the seed of distrust between them, the rest will follow. 

"Friend, Veronica?" He steps a little closer and it doesn't escape his notice that she steps back. "A _friend_ doesn't close in on another _friend’s_ ex."

Whatever else is going through her head, whatever she may feel about him or Logan, whatever makes her shy away from him now, it means absolutely nothing to the rage his words bring out of her and he can practically taste the fury that colors her cheeks. 

"Ex? Ex! Ex is right, Duncan. You made it that way! Do you remember? Why do you even care if you're the one that dumped me? Tell me that!"

As if he could forget. There are many things he can't remember about that time, when he was forced to let her go, when Lilly died, when all of their lives were rocked beyond repair, but there are some things he can never get out of his head. 

Waking up in the limo to find Lilly dead. The stark, horrible words of his mother uttered about Veronica and his - their - father, words his father hadn't denied. The look on Veronica's face everytime he turned away, walked away, refused to acknowledge her. 

She thinks he stopped caring, but the entire opposite is true. 

"You can't, can you? You know why? Because there is no answer. The way you treated me was awful, Duncan. Do you even get that? Do you understand at all?"

He cares so much that he can't stop thinking about her, that every time he sees her he wants to pull her in for a deep, violent kiss, push her against the wall and touch her all over in ways he never dared when they really were together and the majority of him doesn't even find that thought repulsive. 

This is what scares him, this is what makes it difficult to be near her and even more difficult to watch Logan (of all people, Logan!) touch her and be near her and do everything Duncan doesn't get to do anymore. 

That he did once. 

He doesn't even realize she's walked away from him until she's twenty feet away and he has to run to catch up with her, grabbing the crook of her elbow and spinning her around. 

"I haven't finished."

Her surprise is comical, all widened eyes and parted mouth. 

"You're not...?!?" And then her face sets. "Well I have. I have well and truly finished with you, Duncan. You've lost any right to question me about who I do and do not see, who does or does not want to date me. I want to see Logan? You can't say a thing! I start seeing one of the stoners? Too bad. A biker? Oh well. God, you were so bad to me, you couldn't even say anything if I started dating your dad!"

He sees white, blank, stark, painfully hot white. In the back of his brain, he can vaguely hear her start calling his name, a high pitched, panicked sound, the deeper, harsh throated growl that turns into a bark, and somewhere on his forearm comes the sudden and painful flare of deep, deep teeth pulling. 

Dog's teeth. 

The pain snaps him out of it and he comes to quickly, finding his fists wrapped tightly around both her forearms, squeezing them, her face pinched and her knees buckling. But most of all her dog biting him. 

He lets go instantly, fingers unwrapping from her red raw skin and he blinks, dulled, unable to move or care about the dog attached to his own arm. 

"Backup!" She snaps it firmly, but not harshly, and her voice is still pinched as she clasps both her wrists. "Backup, chill!"

The dog does not let go. 

"Did I hurt you?"

She turns her glare on him. 

"Did you hurt me? Did you...?" But she shakes her head and finally just snaps the leash back, pulling to get her dog back, snarling and foam ridden. "Leave me alone, Duncan."

And somewhere, logically, a part of his brain is telling him she said it to be dramatic, she didn't mean it, but if he can't have her, then certainly his dad can't. He wants to tell her this, wants to press upon her the importance of staying away, the absolute horror of what she just said, wants to beg her not to leave him, never to leave him, just to come back and kiss it all away. 

Soft, supple lips on his and the taste of her lip gloss and the feel of her hands and the way he used to kiss her neck... 

"Just stay away."

Like he hasn't tried.

***


End file.
